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D92454 OTHER STORIES 


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DELLA DARE 

AND OTHER STORIES 


By EVA L. DUNNING 

Author of “TROSY" 


COPYRIGHT 1916 
By 

EVA L. DUNNING 


PRICE TWENTY-FIVE CENTS A COPY 


ADDRESS 

EVA L. DUNNING 


705K N. HIGH STREET 


COLUMBUS, OHIO 


TO MY BROTHER AND SISTER 

DELNO AND MAY 

THIS BOOK IS TENDERLY DEDICATED 



^EP 21 



©CI.A437779 

I . 

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DELLA DARE 


I. 

THE STRANGE WOMAN. 

A clear sky looked down on the small farm in the valley, 
and bright rays of light penetrated windows and doors of the 
small farmhouse near the village of Kent. 

‘‘Della, Della Dare!” cried a shrill voice within, “where are 
you, child? Come here with your books instantly.” 

“Ha, ha!” rang a peal of silver sounding mirth, that brought 
Aunt Matilda quickly to the door, together with the sound of 
galloping hoofs. 

“Ha, ha ! Aunt Matilda — no more horrid books today, for Gui- 
do and I are in for a gay long gallop.” 

And turning her radiant face back upon her aunt, and waving 
her whip in defiance, she tossed her bright locks to the wind, 
and galloped off down the dusty village lane. 

“Oh, dear, oh dear !” murmured Aunt Matilda, wringing her 
hands, and gazing after the form disappearing in the shadow 
of the trees, “she’ll break her neck some day !” 

“The little venturesome imp !” she ejaculated. 

“I’ll shake the breath out of her when she returns!” 

“She cares nothing for books — only to gallop thru the woods 
and lanes mounted upon Guido’s back.” 

What a lovely little body she was, as she lifted that sunny face 
in defiance — the face of a child of scarcely ten years, radiant 
with health and beauty, gifted with a rare expression of intellect, 
a delicate oval shape with a complexion wondrously fair, tinted 
with a color that deepened in her cheeks almost to a glowing 
crimson. The lips full and red, eyes, clear and gray, over arched 
with slender brows, the bright gold rings of hair floating on the 
breeze — all were extremely beautiful as they flashed in the sun- 
light, in strange contrast to the pale stern features of Aunt 
Matilda. 


( 5 ) 


6 


DELLA DARE 


As was her wont, Della was now flying thru the woods, and 
coming under the shadow of a sycamore, she paused a moment, 
while Guido drank from a small running brook. The pet horse 
having quenched his thirst, she gathered up her reins for a fresh 
gallop, when her ear caught the sound of foot-steps ; and looking 
back, she saw approaching her a strange woman, whose strange 
magnetic fascination held her gaze. She had been sitting upon 
the edge of the stream, a few yards distant watching the little 
one intently, seated so majestically upon her fine black horse. 

The stranger was robed in a neat costume of black and white, 
a fanciful hat partially covering her raven tresses. The fair 
face was that of a woman not more than eight and twenty years. 

A sunny smile spread her classic features as her eyes met those 
of the child. 

She beckoned her without a word to dismount, and Della 
obeying an inexplicable impulse, tied her horse to a limb of the 
sycamore, came forward, and seated herself by her side under the 
shade of the wide spreading branches. She displayed no fear 
as the woman caressed her cheek, and looked earnestly into her 
gray eyes. 

“What is your name?” she suddenly asked. 

“Della Dare.” 

“Della,” the woman repeated, musingly. “No one but a mother 
would give her darling such a pretty name.” 

“I heard my aunt say that the name was given me by my 
father,” answered Della, quietly. 

“Your father?” absently. Unconsciously the woman dropped 
the small hand, a faint red surged thru her pale cheek, then 
faded away into ghastly pallor. 

Della started up in alarm. 

“Are you ill?” she interrogated. 

“I am tired and hungry, little one, — ^and do you love your 
parents, Della?” 

“I know nothing of them,” was the strange reply. 

“I have no one at home, but Aunt Matilda, and she is so cross, 
I can not love her. I fancy she hates me at times.” 

“Then you are not happy here?” 

“No,” said Della, her eyes filling with tears, “I do not like 
Aunt Matilda — I want my mother.” 


CLARINDENE 


7 


“Della,” said the strange woman, “I want you to come with 
me — you will be a happier child.” 

Della could not repress the joy rising in her heart, tho she 
cast a plaintive glance at Guido. 

“The horse will find his way home if you unloose him, will 
he not, Della?” 

“Yes,” was the quick response, “he knows the way home as 
well as I do, but Guido and I have been such warm friends,” 
she said, striving to control the struggle in her bosom at thought 
of leaving him. 

“I will take you to a better and lovelier home,” said the woman 
earnestly. 

As Della’s eyes rested once again on the face full of silent 
entreaty, she forgot the claims of Aunt Matilda, her warm 
friendship for Guido, — ^forgot everything but the strange power 
of this fascinating woman. 

Led by some irresistible force, she set the horse free, and 
while Guido was galloping home, she returned and said, “I will 
go. 

Glancing hurriedly around, the woman grasped the hand of 
the child, and walked rapidly away. 

II. 

CLARINDENE. 

Raye Fraser had amassed a large fortune and purchased a 
magnificent estate called Clarindene. 

He had no wife nor children to share his riches, or inherit 
them. He was alone in the world with the exception of his 
orphaned nephew whom he had adopted, and who long since 
regarded himself as his rich uncle’s heir. 

It was rumored one time that Raye Fraser was enamored of 
the beautiful blonde woman who suddenly came to an untimely 
death; and since then his heart had not been touched by artful 
women. He was now past sixty years of age and his once dark 
hair was fast turning gray. 

He was sitting in his handsome library, buried in a favorite 
book, when the door opened, and a servant announced, that a 
woman wished to see him. 


8 


DELLA DARE 


“Show her in,” was the somewhat stern command. The bright 
day was waning, and a soft breeze was playing with the blue 
tinted curtains that were drawn aside, and sweeping across the 
richly colored carpet. 

The woman soon entered leading by the hand a fair beautiful 
child. 

At the sound of his name, Raye Fraser came forward, and 
clasped the woman’s hand in a momentary cordial pressure. 

“You have not forgotten me?” she said. 

“I can never forget the debt of gratitude I owe you,” he 
answered promptly. 

“Raye Fraser,” she said, in a steady tone, “I have come to 
claim the payment of that debt.” 

He looked at her inquiringly. 

She answered the unspoken question by glancing proudly at 
the child. 

“You have no wife nor children,” she uttered. 

“Would you not like to take this child whose parents have 
long since neglected, and give her a father’s love?” 

“I have no wish to be burdened with care,” he faltered. 

“You are rich, Raye Fraser, and can afford to rear this child. 
It would be a noble deed.” 

The woman looked at him with pleading eyes. 

“Can you not take care of her better than I?” he asked. 

“I will bestow upon you or her a liberal amount of money.” 

“I can not!” she cried, averting her eyes. 

“You have denied an earnest woman’s request. I have nothing 
more to say. Come, Della.” 

“Della!” he gasped to himself, as the sound of that sacred 
name fell on his ear, and softened his heart. “Stay!” he cried, 
with sudden gesture. 

The woman and child turned. 

“I will take her,” he said, advancing, a ray of pleasure light- 
ing his countenance, “and do the best I can for her.” 

“You will be happy in this beautiful place, Della,” the woman 
whispered bending over her. 

“I don’t know,” returned the child clinging to her hand while 
tears rolled rapidly down her cheeks. “I do not want to leave 

ff 


CLARINDENE 


9 


The woman led her to one side, and talked to her in low 
caressing tones. Della dried her eyes, and made a brave little 
effort to smile. 

“Be kind to her,” she entreated, again at the gentleman’s 
side, “and accept my deepest gratitude.” 

“Her name is Della Dare.” 

She drew the little one again to her bosom, kissed the sweet 
lips, and then glided out, and was gone. 

And Della, awed and trembling, was alone with the sad faced 
master of Clarindene. 

He gazed at his new charge a few seconds, drinking in the 
loveliness of her fair face; then touched a silver bell. 

Aleck again appeared. 

“Send the house-keeper to me,” he said with something like 
kindness in his tone. 

The house-keeper was a sweet faced matronly woman who 
came in a moment later, and in silence awaited her master’s 
orders. 

“Mrs. Belford,” said Raye Fraser, “this little girl is Della 
Dare who will reside with us hereafter. I wish her to be treated 
as my daughter. Give her a pleasant room, and attend to her 
wardrobe.” “This is all,” he ended, resuming his reading. 

Taking Della by the hand, she quietly withdrew, and led her 
up the broad stair-case to a bright cheerful room whose large 
windows commanded a fine view of the long avenue of trees. 

“You’re a pretty little girl,” the house-keeper declared, kissing 
her rosy cheek, after she had given her a refreshing bath, and 
brushed out her golden tresses. 

“No more gloom in this house with you in it, child,” she 
laughed, turning her gently around. 

Della smiled, and thought she was going to be quite happy 
here attended by such motherly kindness. 

Night was coming on, and ere long the weary child was 
slumbering sweetly in a dean cosy bed ; and did not awake until 
the early sun was peeping in the closely drawn curtains of pink 
and white. 


10 


DELLA DARE 


III. 

CHARLES FRASER. 

The day was destined to be clear and warm. 

Della was awake an hour before Mrs. Belford came in to 
arrange her morning toilet. She was wondering the while if 
Aunt Matilda would miss her, and what poor Guido would do 
for a wild gallop thru the woods. 

After completing Della’s toilet, Mrs. Belford informed her 
she was soon to have a maid and a governess. Ten minutes 
later the little fairy filled with new thoughts and fancies was 
skipping along over the beautiful green lawn. 

So absorbed was she in examining the many blooming flowers, 
that she did not observe the tall manly figure approaching her. 

He was a young man of twenty-one or two with a fair smooth 
face who stood regarding her with no small degree of surprise 
and wonder. 

The glowing picture inspired him with the feeling of an 
artist. She was bending over a bright red rose that enhanced the 
beauty of her golden hair, and lily-white face. 

“Who are you?” he queried. 

The unexpected voice startled her. 

Recovering herself she suddenly raised her head as tho ready 
for the encounter. 

“Who are you?” she sharply demanded, a roguish light com- 
ing into her gray orbs. 

The young man laughed outright, and removing his becoming 
hat from his shapely head, made a low obeisance: 

“Charles Oliver Fraser, only nephew and heir of Raye Fraser 
of Clarindene at your service.” 

“Now,” with a merry gleam in his steady gaze, “will you 
answer my inquiry, and tell me who you are, and why you are 
here ?” 

“I shall not tell you everything,” was the decisive reply, allow- 
ing for a moment a little pout to mar the beauty of her red mouth. 

“I am Della Dare, and this is my home, perhaps forever,” she 
added, with the air of a queen. 

“Ah,” said he, again slightly bowing, “since we are to live 
under the same roof^ I trust we will always be friends.” 


CHARLES FRASER 


11 


Della smiled, and not unwillingly placed her little palm in the 
extended hand of her companion. Charles held it for an instant 
and looked down into her lovely face with grave tender eyes. 

The breakfast bell then sounded, and they started for the 
house together. 

Raye Fraser had been watching their movements for some 
time, standing in the open doorway, a look of satisfaction on 
his once handsome face. 

“I see you have introduced yourselves,” observed the uncle, 
pleasantly, more to his nephew than to Della as they came up 
to him smiling, hand in hand. 

“I wish to explain,” resumed the uncle, *‘that this is a little 
protege of mine who will reside with us hereafter.” 

Charles, his only nephew and heir, was spending his summer 
vacation at home. 

In a year he would graduate from college, and then embrace 
the privilege and pleasure of an extended tour. 

During the progress of the meal, Della was listening with 
rapt attention while Charles was relating some of his lively 
anecdotes of college life and customs. 

The presence of Della at Clarindene was like rays of sunlight 
illumining the once dreary home. 

The master soon began to regard her as his own. Her blonde 
face, her sprightly, graceful movements ever reminded him of 
a dearer vision whose fair image bore the same sweet name of 
Della. 

The following week a governess was employed under whose 
instructions Della soon showed marked improvement in intellect 
and manner. 

Her pretty wardrobe so becoming to a child of her years, and 
the possession of a maid, rendered her conscious of the fact 
that in the house of Raye Fraser she was an important personage. 

Shortly after Charles had graduated, his uncle sent him on the 
anticipated pleasure trip. 

He wrote quite frequently, filling each letter with spirited 
descriptions of people he had met, and scenes he had visited, — 
occasionally, inclosing one to Della, which missives were care- 
fully read and preserved among her choicest treasures. 


12 


DELLA DARE 


IV. 

THE VISITORS. 

Sitting Upon the edge of a rock that overlooked a picturesque 
view was a young girl, the age of sixteen or seventeen stamped 
upon her placid brow, her hands clasped about her knees, her 
head bare, her tresses a little loosened by the wind, and her 
clear, gray orbs fixed upon the distant landscape. 

“Ah !” chimed a merry voice behind her, “here you are, and 
I have searched for you everywhere.” 

“How you frightened me, Charles Fraser,” she exclaimed, 
springing up, and forcing a smile, her heart beating beyond 
control, and a deeper red dyeing her cheeks. 

“I beg your pardon,” said Charles Fraser, breaking out into 
a gay laugh. 

“Indeed, Della, I did not mean to frighten you. I only came 
to tell you, this is the day we expect our visitors. I thought 
probably you might have forgotten.” 

“No,” she murmured, absently, “I have not forgotten, but 
have been wondering for hours what they are like, and would I 
admire them.” 

The master of the house had announced at dinner a week 
ago, that his brother’s step-children, a son and a daughter from 
Hartford would make their appearance at Clarindene on this 
date for a visit of thirty days or more. 

“Florence, they say, is quite a beauty,” Charles remarked, 
as Della and he were walking leisurely down the broad avenue 
of trees. “I have not seen her for several years,” he went on, 
“but I feel assured you will greatly admire her.” 

A little shudder ran thru Della’s frame, and her face betrayed 
something of a possible jealousy that might exist in her heart 
during the visit of Florence Hayden. 

“Herman,” he continued, “was my room-mate at college, and I 
often met him while abroad. We have become warm friends 
indeed. I hope you will like him, for my sake, Della, and treat 
him in your usual genial manner.” “But, Della,” he half en- 
treated, slipping his hand tenderly into hers, “I should not wish 
him to engross your entire attention, for this would disturb the 
peace that now dwells in the heart of your friend.” 


THE VISITORS 


13 


At these last words Della averted her eyes with something like 
dew in them. 

They parted on the veranda and Della on reaching her room, 
found her maid in readiness to assist her in her evening toilet. 

The sun had almost set before the inmates of the house caught 
the sound of rumbling wheels that heralded the approach of the 
expected visitors. 

Raye Fraser and his nephew met them in the hall, and wel- 
comed them most heartily. 

“I had begun to fear you were not coming,** said the uncle. 

“The train was two hours late,** returned Herman Hayden, 
a tall, handsome youth of twenty-three, whose eyes were dark 
and sparkling with intellect, while over his proud and lofty fore- 
head fell a profusion of dark hair. 

Raye Fraser led the way into the parlor, and introduced the 
young couple to Della, as his ward, who rose at once, and greeted 
them in her sweet cordial manner. 

As her eyes rested upon Florence whose age was probably 
twenty years, a strange feeling of dread, she could not define 
came over her. 

Miss Hayden*s figure was plump and developed, her eyes 
pale blue, and her hair chestnut with a fiery glow in its under 
tints. Her voice was not musical, but had in it a touch of 
harshness. 

During the few seconds of silence that followed, the brother*s 
eyes were fixed immovable on the fresh beauty of Della*s child- 
like face. 

The evening was spent in music and games, while conversation 
seemed somewhat constrained. 

The next morning Raye Fraser ordered the house-keeper to 
show Florence about the house and grounds, as he and the young 
men were going fishing for a few hours. “I wish Della to ac- 
company her, and make her visit as pleasant as possible,** he 
resumed on leaving the room. 

Mrs. Belford bowed a hearty willingness, and taking the keys 
in hand, beckoned to the two girls who overheard his request. 

Florence followed her closely, uttering exclamations of sur- 
prise and delight, as they passed thru the various rooms filled 
with costly furniture and pictures of rare loveliness. 


14 


DELLA DARE 


“I believe Della can show you over the grounds better than 
I,” the house-keeper said, pleasantly, when they had completed 
the tour of the house. 

Della then led the way out on the lawn, and pointed out the 
beauties of her favorite flowers that seemed to be constantly 
blooming afresh. 

While they stood watching the silvery winding of the little 
brook that ran thru the western part of the grounds, Della noted 
for the first time how strikingly handsome was her companion 
in daylight, and felt conscious of a sort of sick pain creeping 
in her heart when she thought how attentive Charles was to her 
the first hour of her arrival. 

“How long have you resided here?” asked Florence. 

“Almost six years” was the ready reply, adding, “she never 
felt lonely at Clarindene.” 

“I suppose not,” sneeringly, “since you have Charles Fraser 
for companion.” 

Della shrank from the cold gleam of her eye. 

“Yes,” said Della, her face growing a trifle pale, “my guar- 
dian’s nephew has been very kind.” 

Florence flashed a sharp look at the speaker from under her 
auburn lashes. 

Della fancied there was an angry rebuke, or warning in it, and 
making a brave effort to master her feelings, called her attention 
to the cunning . squirrel that had carefully seated itself in the 
recess of one of the tall trees. 

But Florence, however, was not to be daunted so easily in her 
catechism, as the following inquiry may prove. 

“Are you in any way related to Raye Fraser?” 

“I can claim no relationship,” was the rueful response. 

“Ah, I suppose you are an orphan, being his ward. Are you 
an heiress, or entirely dependent on the bounty of Raye Fraser?” 

“You had better apply to Raye Fraser for any information you 
desire on the subject,” said Della in clear tones, while a rosy 
flush swept her agitated features. 

“I believe it is time for my lessons,” she observed, without 
waiting for a reply, anxious to conclude the unpleasant conversa- 
tion. “You will have to excuse me. Miss Hayden,” and turning, 
she walked rapidly away. 


THE ACCIDENT 15 

‘*One moment/’ called Florence, her blue eyes kindled with 
a taunting expression. 

Della turned round as tho compelled from the tone of her 
harsh voice. 

“Do you love Charles Fraser?” with a keen searching glance. 

Della’s eyes fell under the piercing gaze, and white to the lips, 
made a mighty struggle to turn again and fly without answering 
a word. 

Miss Hayden looked beyond the little stream into infinite 
space with a wicked light in her half shut eyes. 

“The proud little protege,” she muttered between her teeth. 
“She had better not come between me and my plans of success.” 

V. 

THE ACCIDENT. 

Toward noon the fishing party had returned, each carrying a 
string of fish. So noiseless was their approach in the grass, that 
Florence did not hear their foot- falls. 

Her brother softly advanced and held the result of his fishing 
close in front of her. 

“How you frightened me, Herman Hayden!” she cried, push- 
ing the game from her with sudden force. 

A merry peal of laughter rose on the breeze, as she and her 
brother turned to join the other two. 

“Where is Della?” asked Raye Fraser, a shade of annoyance 
crossing his countenance at the thought of her lack of courtesy 
in not entertaining his guest. 

“She is under instruction,” answered Florence, indifferently. 

“Ah,” said he and his countenance cleared. 

They walked thru the familiar path that led to the front 
veranda, and Charles, stepping round to Florence’s side, engaged 
himself in pleasant conversation, while Herman succeeded in 
cheering his “uncle” with his boyish remarks. 

When Della issued from the library, after her study hour, she 
felt timid about coming again into the presence of Florence who 
had already planted within her a strong sense of dread. 

Gazing out of the sitting-room window, she discovered to her 
pleasure that the party of men had returned from their fishing 
excursion. 


16 


DELLA DARE 


Seated upon the veranda that faced the beautiful lawn, they 
were evidently discussing some important and interesting sub- 
ject, Florence forming the center of the group. 

Her manner was so changed, her face so radiant, that Della 
half forgot her coldness of an hour ago, and partially overcame 
her feelings of dread. 

She glanced at the marble clock on the carved mantle piece, 
and was pleased to note it was almost ready to chime the lunch 
hour. 

Having joined the group a moment later, Herman, who was 
seated near the hall door, rose, and gallantly offered her his 
chair. 

“Thank you,” said Della in her sweet girlish voice, her cheeks 
flushing a little deeper than usual, and her hands betraying a 
degree of nervousness, quite new to her, as she toyed with her 
dainty handkerchief. 

Mistaking her manner as a token of the feeling held in court 
for him, the courteous one blushed a lovely shade of pink, while 
securing another chair, and seating himself by her side. Ever 
since his dark eyes rested on her face, so innocent, so fresh, so 
radiant, he thought her the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. 

“The young people are discussing the question of further 
amusement, Della,” said Raye Fraser, looking at her with a ten- 
derness befitting a father. “Can you not lend your /ready 
assistance ?” 

But before Della could frame an answer, the lunch bell 
sounded. 

“The question can be decided at the table,” suggested the 
master, as he rose from his chair, and led the way to the dining- 
room. 

Lawn tennis and other games were mentioned for the after- 
noon pastime, but that of horse back riding seemed in the 
ascendant, and they finally decided on an animated gallop. 

Toward the middle of the afternoon, Della was mounted upon 
Black Dick, a dark red riding habit encasing her rounded form, 
while Florence, having selected a riding robe of dark blue, sat 
upon a milk-white mare, her plumed hat placed jauntily on her 
auburn hair. Charles had chosen Katie, and Herman was satis- 
fied with Fanny — two gallant steeds. 


THE PRETTY NURSE 


17 


They stood at the arched gate ready for command, quivering 
with impatience, yet prancing in one spot under the control of 
the steady hands that held the reins. 

The horse upon which Florence sat, shied at her carresses, 
and seemed to spurn the touch of her hand. 

In a short time they were off in a wild race. 

Katie and Fannie were fast gaining distance, as they galloped 
along a quarter of a mile ahead. They had already cleared the 
ditch near a bend in the road, and it seemed for a time that 
nothing could check their head-long speed. 

Black Dick and the milk-white mare had almost reached the 
ditch when Florence noticed how charmingly beautiful Della 
looked with her red cheeks, and lovely eyes shining like stars in 
the merry excitement. 

Growing passionately jealous at the thought of the friendship 
existing between Charles and that “proud little ward,” as she 
termed Della, she could not control the angry impulse rising in 
her heart; and tightening one hand about the reins, and grasp- 
ing her riding-whip firmly with the other, it suddenly descended 
sharply on Black Dick’s flanks. 

The startled animal plunged and reared so violently at the 
unusual touch of the lash, that he threw his mistress prostrate 
in the ditch, and dashed madly after the flying steeds. 


VI. 

THE PRETTY NURSE. 

Della uttered a shriek of pain as she fell to the ground in a 
dead faint. 

The next moment there was a sound of galloping hoofs and a 
young man sprang from his saddle, and bent over Della’s pros- 
trate form. 

“The little Queen of Clarindene as I live,” he exclaimed. “Her 
horse has thrown her. Poor girl !” and hurrying toward a small 
stream nearby, he filled his hat with water, and returning 
sprinkled the white face. 

A low moan issued from Della’s lips, and a startled look 
sprang into her eyes as she met the compassionate gaze of a 
strange young man bending over her. 


18 


DELLA DARE 


“Your horse has thrown you,” he kindly explained. 

“Allow me to assist you to our home, which fortunately is 
only a few yards from here. You will be quite safe under the 
hospitality of my sister.” 

He offered his arm to aid her to rise, but she fell back with 
a groan. 

“Ah, permit me,” he said, tenderly, stooping down, and gath- 
ering the light form in his strong arms. 

He then bore her off, his horse following, to a neat cottage, 
glimmering among the trees, and standing a short distance from 
the main road. 

A pretty blonde girl came out to meet them, uttering expres- 
sions of pity and deep sympathy for the little unfortunate beauty. 

While the brother hurried off for a physician, the sister began 
bathing Della’s pale face, and smoothing her disordered hair, 
making her as comfortable as possible. 

The injured one expressed her gratitude thru the faint smile 
that spread her wan features, as her eyes met the tender gaze 
of those belonging to the sweet face bending over her. 

The physician was not long in gaining the cottage, and pro- 
nounced both feet sprained, and one ankle bone out of place. 
After adjusting it, and leaving directions for her care with the 
sister, he took his departure, ordering her not to move for a 
few days. He undertook to stop on his way, and apprise Raye 
Fraser of the accident. 

“I have often seen you at Clarindene, and wished to make 
your acquaintance,” said the gentle nurse, who was almost the 
age of Della, being something over eighteen. 

“Thank you,” said Della, “but I do not remember ever seeing 
you.” 

“My name is Rosalind Garner,” answering Della’s look of calm 
inquiry. 

Rosalind was tastefully attired in pale pink, which was most 
becoming to her fair face. 

The room in which Della lay was daintily upholstered in navy 
blue and gray which seemed to be the prevailing color thru out 
the cottage. 

The brother and sister lived alone in this cottage with its 
beautiful lawns and gardens. 


THE VISITORS SUMMONED HOME 19 

Evening came and brought the household from Clarindene to 
see Della and express their sad regrets over her misfortune. 

Florence, bending over, said to her in a low voice : “I am sorry 
I struck Dick. I did not think he would throw you. I hope you 
won’t tell any one about it.” 

“Certainly not,” was the low response, with a nervous turn 
of her head. 

It was some time before Della was able to return home. 

Raye Fraser and his nephew had visited her a number of times, 
and expressed appreciation of the kind attention given Della, 
and warmly invited the inmates of the cottage to visit frequently 
at Clarindene. 


VII. 

THE VISITORS SUMMONED HOME. 

The guests had not taken their leave when Rosalind and her 
brother made their first appearance at the beautiful mansion 
after Della had returned. 

For the afternoon’s pastime, lawn tennis was chosen, and 
during it’s progress the color rose in Rosalind’s cheeks, and her 
eyes drooped shyly whenever she encountered the ardent gaze 
of Herman Hayden. 

Life and the world were changed to her the first moment she 
beheld him. 

“Della,” said Herman to himself, as his dark eyes roved from 
one to the other, “is child-like in simplicity, and beautiful as a 
dream, but Rosalind is the star of my existence.” And he 
resolved to learn his fate before leaving for home. 

Harry Garner’s admiration was centered upon Della. He 
could not forget he had carried her in his arms and h^r beautiful 
head had rested confidingly on his shoulder. 

Two weeks later the guests were leaving Clarindene after a 
delightful stay of six weeks or more. Mrs. Hayden was becom- 
ing lonesome without her children and had summoned them 
home. 

In the meantime Herman had learned his fate at the Cottage. 
Each day from the first he sought the shy glances and pink 
blushes of fair Rosalind. The day on which he was to leave 
Clarindene accompanied by his sister, he heard her declaration of 


20 


DELLA DARE 


love in response to his own, and won from her a promise to wed 
him before the beginning of another year. 

When the time had come for the visitor’s departure, Charles 
shook the hand of his friend and college room-mate long and 
warmly, and expressed his deep regret at parting with his genial 
presence. 

He then bade Florence, ‘"goodbye” smilingly, clasping her hand 
a moment only in his own. 

This farewell did not escape Della’s quick notice, as her jeal- 
ous, aching heart was depicted in every lineament of her face. 

Florence then turned to Della. 

She said, “goodbye,” lightly, and almost haughtily, as she 
whispered low: 

“You have not failed to see I am taking home with me Charles 
Fraser’s heart. We had many a pleasant walk while you lay at 
the romantic cottage.” 

Fortunately amidst the hurry of departure, no one saw Della’s 
white, agitated face, and her form sway a little as she grasped 
the pillar belonging to the front veranda. 

When the carriage drove off, she suddenly turned, and sought 
her quiet room to indulge in a heart-breaking cry. 

VIII. 

della’s lonely heart. 

It had become Raye Fraser’s intention to send Charles away 
for a few days to settle a matter of business that had been 
delayed too long already. 

On the morning of his departure, he met Della at the arched 
gate, looking somewhat sad, and paler than usual. 

He had decided to walk to the station as the air was cool and 
refreshing, and the distance not far. 

“Be a good girl, Della,” he smiled, taking her warm hand in 
his, “ ’till I come back, and don’t let any one carry you off, for 
what would we do with no sunbeam in the house and no joyous 
sound ringing in the spacious halls.” 

Making an effort to swallow the lump rising in her throat, 
Della essayed to laugh aloud, but only succeeded in forcing a 
smile that lacked the old roguish curve. 


Della's lonely heart 21 

The manly figure was fast disappearing in the shadow of the 
great oak trees. 

Gazing down the road thru a mist of tears that nearly blinded 
him from view, “Oh, Charles, Charles,” she cried, “don't think 
me merely a girl, — I have a woman’s heart.” 

And she buried her face in her hands. 

Della entered the library a few minutes later looking so sad 
and wistful, that Raye Fraser kindly inquired the reason. 

She seated herself on a low ottoman at his feet. With her 
hands clasped about her knees, and looking up into his face, “I 
should like to ask you something, sir,” she said. 

“Do you know anything of my parents, anything of my birth? 
I must have a mother somewhere in this sad world who would 
love her lonely child. Oh, sir, if you know anything of them, 
will you not tell me?” 

“What ails you today, Della?” gently stroking her golden 
hair. “Why trouble yourself with such questions?” he gravely 
asked. “Are you not cared for, protected, happy? Do you wish 
to leave me?” 

“No, no, sir; but the woman who brought me here when a 
child, — who was she?” 

Raye Fraser looked down into the wistful face of the beautiful 
girl he loved as his own. 

“Della,” he said, thoughtfully, “I believe she was your mother, 
but I can not tell. She told me nothing, — only your name. You 
resemble her now very closely, and as I said before, I firmly 
believe she was your mother. For some reason she requested 
me to call her by her maiden name.” 

The poor girl bowed her head on her knee, and gave way to 
her tumultuous thoughts. 

Her mother! That then was the sweet mysterious tie that 
bound her to the strange woman. 

Like a flash of light she recalled the memory of her first meet- 
ing with her — the sad dark eyes, the earnest questions, and the 
fond caresses. 

Then the journey to Clarindene, and the sorrowful parting. 
And Della’s yearning heart went out in a tide of aflfectionate 
grief toward the mother she might never see again. 

“Let us be patient, Della,” he said, kindly, “and hope that your 
mother will some day return.” 


22 


DELLA DARE 


“But do not worry over it/’ he entreated, “and dim the lovely 
roses Charles admires so very much. I have ordered some pretty 
new dresses for you, too. There, cheer up, darling, and get 
ready for a drive.” 

“Indeed, sir,” said Della, softly, “I do not know how to thank 
you for all you have done for me.” 

“You have more than paid me, my ‘Little Sunbeam.’ You have 
beguiled many of my weary hours with your sunny presence, 
and tho fast merging into womanhood, I shall ever regard you 
as a loving and faithful daughter.” 

Della then went out to order the carriage, holding the precious 
thought that at least in the heart of Raye Fraser there beamed 
for her a constant and true affection. 

“How do you like the young man of the cottage, Della?” 
asked her guardian while driving toward the city. 

The question somewjiat surprised Della, and gave her a rev- 
erie of thought. 

“He has been very kind to me,” was the simple reply. 

“The young man called today and asked permission to pay his 
attentions to you. What do you say to this ‘Little Sunbeam,’ ?” 
casting upon her a look of amused interest. 

She grew a trifle pale, and her heart sank within her — wonder- 
ing the while — were it his desire that she should turn her 
thoughts toward him. 

“I do not wish him to come as a lover,” declared Della, candid- 
ly, “but whenever he calls I shall treat him with due courtesy.” 

IX. 

THE suitor’s disappointment. 

Some days later Della was idly running her fingers over the 
keys of her Baby Grand piano when she heard a familiar voice 
thru the open window, the only voice that had the power to set 
her heart aglow. 

Charles had returned and was speaking to his uncle on the 
broad gravel path. 

He soon entered where inspiring music filled the room. 

“Ah, here you are, Della,” Charles exclaimed, coming toward 
her, and placing his arms about her, “just as he would have done 
were she his own sister,” thought Della. 


THE suitor's disappointment 


23 


She felt tempted to throw her arms around his neck, and tell 
him how she had missed him, but recalling Florence's parting 
words, restrained herself, and merely asked, “did he have a pleas- 
ant and profitable journey?" 

He led her to the sofa, and told her everything of interest that 
happened during his absence. 

As he sought her hand and caressed it as was his wont, he 
noted for the first time her restrained manner. 

The old child-like freedom was gone, while he talked to her, 
and afterwards she seemed to avoid him rather than seek him 
as in the days of her childhood. 

Sometime later he saw her walking over the enchanting 
grounds with Harry Garner, and could not rid himself of the 
slight pain gradually deepening, when following them with his 
eyes, until they were lost in the distance. 

He remembered her constant companionship during child- 
hood, and her frank, radiant manner of only a short time ago. 
How she had changed toward him ! 

“Did she love Harry Garner?" he often asked himself. Yet 
he perceived no joyous light in her beautiful eyes. 

They seemed tinged with a shade of sadness; and there was 
nothing in her mien when in Harry's presence that surprised 
the true state of her heart, as being stirred by the passion of love. 

Della accepted Harry Garner's attention with such retiring 
courtesy, that he almost despaired of ever winning her. 

When ever on the point of disclosing his heart, something in 
her manner forbade the ardent flow that was ready to escape 
his lips. 

It was not long, however, before he found courage to declare 
his love and ask her to be his wife. 

He felt assured that she cared for no other neighboring gentle- 
man, and entertained a faint hope that some day, she would love 
him. 

“I can give you my hand in friendship," she answered, “but 
never my heart in love." 

“You do not love any one else, do you, Della?" he calmly 
questioned. 

The half frightened look that spread her features, and the 
conscious blushes coming and going surprised him. 


24 


DELLA DARE 


“You need not answer, Della, unless you choose,” he kindly 
said. 

“I prefer not,” she softly replied. 

Shortly afterwards the interview closed. 

“Is it possible she loves Charles Fraser, the heir of Clarin- 
dene,” Harry uttered half aloud on his way to the cottage. “If 
this be true, he surely does not suspect it.” 

A hearty laugh greeted him as he entered the gate. 

“What’s the matter, Harry?” said Rosalind, who was standing 
on the porch, watching him with roguish eyes. “You look like 
you had lost all your fortune.” 

“I have,” said he with a ring of despair that smote his sister’s 
heart. 

“Ah.” she said to herself, as her brother passed in, “I believe 
he has come from Clarindene, and has been teasing Della again 
with his attentions, and she has given him little or no encour- 
agement. Poor Harry! Della is so sweet and beautiful, I am 
not surprised that she has stolen his heart.” 

“Did you not admire Florence Hayden ?” asked Rosalind, while 
they were having an early dinner, “I think her a very pretty girl.” 

“Miss Hayden is unquestionably a pretty girl, but there is 
something unexplainable about her that I do not like. Yet, Rosa- 
lind, since she is to be my sister-in-law, I shall treat her with 
the most profound courtesy.” 

“Should you never care to wed, Harry, you must live with 
Herman and I.” 

“You are very kind and considerate, sister, — we will talk more 
of this hereafter. I shall never marry since the girl I love has 
not only refused me, but given me clear evidence that she loves 
another. Does Herman wish an early date?” 

“Yes,” she answered somewhat shyly, and I have been thinking 
of celebrating the wedding Christmas day.” 

“A very good time,” observed Harry, “and only a few months 
ahead.” 

“You must not neglect to send word to Mrs. Anthony, the 
wealthy widow,” he added. 

“I shall not forget. Mrs. Anthony is one of my dearest 
friends.” 

Before the day ended, Rosalind penned a long letter to Herman 
containing her promise to wed him on Christmas day. 


WHEN I HAVE FOUND MY MOTHER 


25 


X. 

WHEN I HAVE FOUND MY MOTHER. 

It was an ideal day. The sole occupant of the garden at Clarin- 
dene was Della, looking beautiful and picturesque in her attitude. 
Her golden hair was loosened, and fell in shining ringlets far 
below her belt. The flowing sleeve of pale blue had fallen back 
from the perfect white arm uplifted to pluck the purple lilacs. 
She was striving to reach them, when a voice thrilled her. 

“Allow me,” said Charles Fraser, smiling, and approaching 
with rapid strides. 

A fairer vision of Della he thought he had never seen. 

“You are very kind,” she said, as he handed her the desired 
bunch with a graceful obeisance. 

“I feared I was not going to accomplish my efforts, tho standing 
upon tip-toe,” she said, coiling her hair on the nape of her neck, 
and gazing about in such a manner that betokened to Charles 
a disposition to run away from him. 

“Della,” said he, reproachfully, “why is my presence never 
so welcome as in the days of yore — the days of your happy 
childhood ?” 

A puzzled look sprang into her eyes, her hands trembled, let- 
ting down again the rings of hair. 

As he caught her hand, she tried to pull away from him, 
blushing a lovely crimson. 

“Della,” he whispered softly, “what is it?” “You have passed 
from childhood to womanhood, — can you not love me with a 
woman's heart?” 

“Stop !” she urged, striving again to loosen his grasp. 

But he held her firmly. 

“Della,” he pursued in earnest, leading her to a seat, “ do not 
mistake me. I have loved you ever since you came to Clarin- 
dene, a beautiful child.” 

“And now that you have blossomed into a beautiful woman, 
the depth of my love can not be reckoned.” 

“Speak to me Della,” he entreated, as he lifted her bowed 
head. 

“Florence!” she gasped. “I thought it was she you loved.” 

A sudden light broke over his handsome features. 


26 


DELLA DARE 


“I never loved Florence Hayden,” he returned. “What put 
such a notion into your head?” 

“She gave me the impression and I began to believe it.” 

“We will say no more about her,” he said with renewed cour- 
age, “as I am now deeply interested in the lovely girl beside me. 
Tell me, Della, is it really true that you love me?” 

She threw her arms about his neck as in childish glee, and 
her head fell on his breast in the consciousness of her joy. 

Lifting once more her beautiful face, and drawing her still 
closer to his joyous bosom, he kissed her red lips, again and 
again. 

“You will be my wife some day, Della — you will be the mis- 
tress of Clarindene.” 

At the utterance of those words, Della calmly freed herself 
from his embrace, and rose to her feet. 

Looking steadily in his face, she somewhat sadly said: 

“How can you ask me to be your wife, when you have no 
knowledge of my parents?” 

“That is not a question of my heart, Della. The truth is, I 
love you.” 

“But I can not wed you,” said Della, “until I have found my 
mother. I often dream that I have found her, and something 
tells me my dreams will some day be realized.” 

“But Della,” said Charles, almost despairingly, “it may be a 
long time before this happens, and perhaps forever.” 

“Oh, no. It can not be long. My yearning love will reach her 
ere long. I know that God will soon answer my prayer and direct 
me to her.” 

“Then I may claim you as my own?” rising to his feet. 

“I will promise to wed you, when I have found my mother,” 
she pledged with a smile. 

He once more drew her to himself and kissed her with fervent 
affection. 

Then they walked over the green lawn and entered the house. 

Hand in hand the lovers passed to the library where Raye 
Fraser sat in his accustomed place. 

He looked up with a pleasing smile when he saw them enter. 

“Uncle,” said Charles, his face beaming with joy, “this little 
sunbeam is my promised wife.” 


CHRISTMAS NIGHT AT THE COTTAGE 


27 


This announcement was rather surprising to Raye Fraser, yet 
it delighted him beyond expression. 

“This has always been my heart’s desire,” he said, rising, as 
tho to evoke his blessing, “and should I live to see you happily 
married, my greatest wish is granted.” 

XL 

CHRISTMAS NIGHT AT THE COTTAGE. 

There had been no fresh fall of snow on Christmas day. The 
air was keen with its frosty breath. The roads were white and 
hard. 

The evening came with that mystical hush that always falls 
on Christmas night. The stars were glittering their best, the 
white cottage was brilliantly lighted, and fragrant flowers were 
breathing everywhere. 

The little parlor was crowded with bright faces and merry 
voices. 

The marriage ceremony had been performed that united fair 
Rosalind to handsome Herman Hayden. 

How lovely she looked in her robe of white silk and flowers. 

At her side stood beautiful Della. Her costume of pale pink 
with charming roses lent a new aspect to her radiant face and 
figure. 

At some little distance stood Florence Hayden, a shade of 
light gray adorning her gracefully. 

Her countenance bore a cheerful aspect until her eyes rested 
on the fair form of Della. Then her face depicted something of 
defeat, and from her blue orbs there radiated a flash of scorn. 
Charles Fraser offered her only courteous attention, but he gave 
to Della sincere devotion. 

Among the limited number of guests was the charming, dash- 
ing, and wealthy widow, Mrs. Anthony of Glen Heights. 

She had often heard of beautiful Della of Clarindene, but 
never had the pleasure of meeting her till tonight. 

Della’s brilliant personality captivated her soul, and won from 
her at once an invitation to visit Glen Heights as soon as arrange- 
ments could be made. Her many visitors would be glad to 
welcome her. 


28 


DELLA DARE 


^‘Thank you,” said Della, in her usual sweetness, “I shall^^be 
delighted to visit your home and meet your charming friends.” 

So it was decided and sanctioned by Raye Fraser that Della 
should visit the wealthy widow at no distant date. 

XII. 

DELLA AT GLEN HEIGHTS. 

Christmas had gone, and with it the white snow that covered 
the earth for thousands of miles, and the great bare branches 
raised their giant arms to the wintry skies. 

‘Twas in the month of January. The cottage by the road had 
been deserted for weeks past, and the occupants of the mansion 
were busy making preparations for Della’s journey to Glen 
Heights. 

This charming place was built upon a high eminence that 
overlooked the beautiful river below, and commanded an exten- 
sive view of the surrounding country. 

There Della was graciously received. Mrs. Anthony spared no 
pains in making her guests happy and comfortable. She intro- 
duced Della as “Queen of Clarindene,” as Rosalind called her, 
and from the moment of her arrival she seemed to pay special 
attention to her. 

The weather was very cold, but not too cold for Della to enjoy 
her morning walks. The other guests preferred to sit around the 
register awhile and discuss their plans for the day. 

One morning Della wandered down the woodland path, that 
led to a humble dwelling. She had walked farther than usual 
that day, and became so cold that she decided to seek permission 
to enter and warm herself before returning. 

An aged woman responded to her summons, and admitted 
her into the cosy room where a bright fire was blazing. 

“Is some one sick?” asked Della, quietly, after warming her- 
self a few moments. “I thought I heard a faint coughing in the 
adjoining room.” 

“Yes,” answered the woman. “The lady has been quite ill, 
but is now much better.” 

“May I see her?” said Della, her sympathetic heart reaching 
out to her. “I may be able to cheer her. I am visiting Mrs. 
Anthony of Glen Heights, and I often take these morning walks.” 


DELLA AT GLEN HEIGHTS 29 

“Go right in Miss,” said the woman without hesitation, and 
resuming her knitting. 

“How do you do, my young lady”, said the sick one, as Della 
entered timidly. “I heard your pleasant voice, and wished you 
would come in to see me.” “What is your name?” she asked, as 
Della came to her side. 

For a brief moment Della forgot to answer. She was scan- 
ning the woman’s features that bore a familiar look and trying 
to imagine where she had once heard that soft, sweet voice. 

“Della Dare”, she replied, seating herself on the edge of the 
bed. 

The woman’s face turned as white as death, and her feeble 
breath seemed to have left her body. 

Della sprang up in alarm, and was about to hasten from the 
room to summon the nurse, when the woman grasped her hand. 

“Stay !” she entreated. “I am much better. Do not leave me”. 

“Della !’ she gasped, with outstretched arms, unable to restrain 
herself longer, “you are my child”. 

“Mother!” escaped Della’s lips, kissing her hands and face. 

“Oh, Mother,” she sobbed on her bosom, “why did you leave 
me there ? Why did you not take me with you” ? 

“You have been happy, have you not, Della? Raye Fraser 
has been kind to you, has he not?” 

“Yes,” was the reply, but I have always yearned for you. 
Why am I there, mother, and where is my father?” 

“Oh, my darling, you nearly break my heart when you speak 
of your father. Calm yourself, Della, and I will try to explain. 

“When you were a baby of scarcely ten months, I left you one 
summer evening with your nurse, while I answered a call from 
a dear friend in distress. She bade me come at once, and tell 
no one of my visit. I expected to be back at least in a couple 
of hours, but a sudden storm arose that threatened never to 
abate, rendering the roads impassable on account of the great 
floods of water that crossed them in many places. Nothing 
would do but that I remain over night. 

In the morning the water was lowered, and I succeeded in re- 
turning home with wet feet. 

Your father met me at the door, and with a face aflame with 
rage, and a wave of his hand I shall never forget, told me he 


30 


DELLA DARE 


had heard the disgraceful news and bade me begone, and never 
again show my false form. 

I tried to speak, but he slammed the door in my face. 

With throbbing brain, and breaking heart, I staggered out of 
the yard over the wet grass, back to my faithful friend. 

Afterwards I learned that some jealous, wicked woman cir- 
culated the report that the physician whom I led to Cora was 
my discarded lover. 

I wrote to Alvin, your father, telling him of my innocence, 
but he never answered me. 

Some years since I heard you were placed in the care of your 
father’s sister, who was never kind to you, and he had left for 
foreign lands. 

And after your father’s judgment of me, as an unworthy 
mother, I could not have you with me. I knew you would be 
well educated at Clarindene, and have every comfort and luxury 
of life. 

So I took you to Raye Fraser. 

He owed me a debt of gratitude, and I claimed it in his future 
care of you.” 

“What was this debt of gratitude, mother”? Della interrupted. 

“I will tell you”, said Mrs. Dare. 

“A year or more before I took you to Clarindene, I over heard 
the villianous plans of a band of robbers, who were bent on 
taking Raye Fraser’s life, and robbing his beautiful house of it’s 
many treasures. 

I informed him of this, tho I had to walk the distance of four 
miles. 

That night the house was guarded, the robbers caught, and 
fitly punished.” 

“Flow have you supported yourself all these years?” Della 
asked. 

“Shortly after our separation, my widowed mother died leav- 
ing me a small life- annuity.” 

At this moment the nurse entered to ask if her services were 
needed. 

“No”, was the kind answer. 

“What time is it?” asked Mrs. Dare. 

“It is almost ten o’clock,” observed the nurse quitting the room. 

“So late,” said Della, rising with anxious dread. 


MRS. ANTHONY^S HOUSE PARTY 


31 


“I fear Mrs. Anthony will be much worried. I never yet 
stayed away longer than eight.” 

“You will come to tomorrow, Della?” gently pleaded the 
mother. 

“I will if I can”, was the kind response. “Tomorrow night, 
Mrs. Anthony gives a house party in my honor. • But I have not 
the heart to be joyous, mother”. 

“Try to enjoy yourself, Della,” said Mrs. Dare, kissing her, 
while her dark eyes were filling with tears. And if you can not 
come tomorrow — then the next day.” 

Bidding her mother an affectionate “goodby” till the next 
meeting, Della left the humble dwelling and returned to Glen 
Heights with a lighter and happier heart since she had found 
her mother. 


XIII. 

MRS. ANTHONY^S HOUSE PARTY. 

The morning dawned clear and cold; and over the earth lay 
a carpet of heavy snow. The great branches and hedges bowed 
their heads under the weight of their heavy garments. 

Evening came, and over the beautiful landscape, the moon 
was shining brightly. 

The imposing mansion stood out clear under the starry sky 
and the light of the silver moon. 

When the great hall door opened to admit one or more of the 
numerous invited guests, there came forth a ruddy glow that was 
cheerful and pleasant to see. 

On this occasion, as on every other, Mrs. Anthony was a 
charming hostess. 

The long spacious room was ablaze with light and fragrant 
with flowers. The hum of conversation rose from the brilliant 
groups, standing here and there, listening to the strains of music 
with which the orchestra beguiled the hour. 

“There comes la belle Della”, said a clear voice, and every one 
turned to gaze. 

Standing under the light of the great chandelier, robed in red 
satin, a necklace of rare pearls adorning her white neck, she 
looked the queen of beauty and grace in contrast to those around 
her. 


32 


DELLA DARE 


Mrs. Anthony’s numerous friends were delighted to meet Della 
and breathe in the beauty of her fair face and genial soul. 

Dr. Lawrence was quite smitten with the little "‘Queen/’ but 
was not selfish with her company. He wished to present her 
to his friend who had just returned from Paris. 

“He bears the same name, Miss Dare,” “but of course can be 
of no relation.” 

A cold shudder ran thru Della’s frame at the utterance of these 
last words. 

While the Doctor was giving the introduction with due polite- 
ness, Mr. Dare turned pale and staggered back a step, as he 
heard the name and observed the resemblance to his wife long 
since discarded. 

How her heart beat, as she noted his movement. 

She scarcely lifted her eyes while acknowledging an intro- 
duction to Mr. Dare. She felt his burning gaze on her face, 
and glancing up, encountered a fixed look of surprise, inquiry, 
and emotion. 

Hardly able to conceal her own agitation, she held out her 
hand in feigned welcome. 

Dr. Lawrence remembered his engagement with Miss Lanore 
thru the Conservatory, and left Della for a while in charge of 
Mr. Dare. 

She felt intuitively this man was her father, and began to dis- 
like him at once for treating her mother so shamefully. 

“Our names being the same. Miss Dare, we ought to be friends,” 
he said, endeavoring to control himself. 

Della forced a laugh, and said, “the future would determine 
what kind of friends they were to be”. 

“Miss Dare,” gathering fresh courage, “I wish to speak to you 
away from the listening crowd. Will you come with me?” 

Della followed him more to reproach him than to please him. 

When they reached a secluded place, Della continued to steel 
her heart against this man, as the vision of a lonely mother 
passed before her. 

“Della,” he began at once, “has it occurred to you, I might be 
your father?” 

“You call yourself my father!” she said, confronting him with 
open scorn. 

“I am your father, Della, do not scorn me”. 


MRS. ANTHQNY^S HOUSE PARTY 


33 


“Where is my mother?’' she asked in bitter reproach. 

“I know nothing of her”, was the somewhat sad reply. 

“Ask me nothing of her, my daughter. Is it not hard for a 
father to admit to his child her mother is unworthy of her love?” 

“Stop!” she commanded sternly with a grand sweep of her 
hand. “Say no more against the name of my innocent mother! 
I have met her, and know her, and she has told me all. She was 
innocent of the evil report against her. Did you not receive her 
letter, relating the true cause of her absence?” 

“I received no letter”, answered the father, huskily. Then 
Della told him of meeting her mother at the humble dwelling. 

Mr. Dare covered his face with his hands and wept bitterly. 

Della pitied him now. 

“You will go to her tomorrow?” pleaded Della, winding her 
arm about him^ and kissing his bearded cheek. “You will meet 
me at nine tomorrow at the cross roads? How happy she will 
be to see you.” 

“Do you think she can forgive me, Della?” 

“Yes”, said Della, for she still loves you.” 

“Poor Mabel I How she must have suffered all these years,” 
he uttered aloud. 

“And now, Della, dear,” he continued, taking her hand in his, 
“tell me where you are living, and why you are there?” 

“After leaving you in care of my sister”, he went on without 
waiting for her reply, “I traveled abroad. Several years after- 
wards I repented having neglected my child so long, and decided 
to return and do my duty as a father ; but on reaching the village 
I learned you had disappeared. 

My sister and I could find no trace of you, and I at least 
mourned you as stolen or dead.” 

Della related the story of the strange woman who took her to 
a wealthy home, called Clarindene, not many miles from Glen 
Heights. “I was not happy with Aunt Matilda, so I followed 
the woman who held a fascination over me. I have recently 
discovered she was my mother. I should like you to meet Raye 
Fraser, father, whose ward I have been ever since”. 

“And thank him for his care of you,” he gratefully interposed. 

“We had better return to the guests now, Della”, said her 
father at length, rising — they will miss you. I shall deliver you 


34 


DELLA DARE 


to Mrs. Anthony, who does not suspect our relationship, and 
tomorrow I shall await your coming at the cross-roads”. 

Della heard the music, the murmur of voices, as tho in the 
distance. She was ever thinking of her father and mother, and 
trying to picture their strange and happy reunion. 

XIV. 

REUNION OF SEVERED HEARTS. 

The next morning Della woke earlier than usual. She had 
slept but a few hours. 

Consulting her jeweled watch, she arose, and looking out of 
the window was pleased to note that the roads were considerably 
broken. 

She experienced some little difficulty in getting off this morn- 
ing, as some of the guests of last night decided to remain at 
Glen Heights for a few days longer at Mrs. Anthony’s earnest 
request. 

By telling them she wished to take the sick woman at the 
humble dwelling some of the flowers while fresh, she was 
granted a short leave of absence. 

Her face brightened when she caught a glimpse of her father’s 
form patiently waiting her. 

When they reached the dwelling, she bade him remain outside 
a short time, until she could break the joyful news to her yet 
feeble mother. 

Having gained her bedside, Della kissed her sweetly and placed 
in her hands the richly colored flowers. 

“These are beautiful roses, Della,” said Mrs. Dare inhailing 
their sweet perfume. “I hope you had a pleasant evening?” 

“As pleasant as could be expected, mother. And whom do 
you think I met there? Some one who still loves you, and now 
believes in your innocence. He never heard from you, mother, 
after you left him.” 

“Della !” she breathed. “What do you mean ?” 

“I mean, mother, that I met my dear father.” 

Mrs. Dare for a moment lost all power of speech. 

“You say he believes me innocent,” she said, recovering her- 
self. 


REUNION OF SEVERED HEARTS 


35 


Yes, mother, he told me this last evening. He never received 
your letter, and I told him of our meeting.” 

“Then why does he not come to me?” she asked brokenly. 

“He is here mother.” 

Della informed her mother that her father was waiting outside 
to be summoned in. She wished to apprise her of the gladness 
before meeting her husband again, after having been separated 
so long. 

A few moments later Della went out for her father, and to- 
gether they entered the room where his dear wife lay. 

“Mabel !” he cried, advancing and extending his arms, the 
tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“Alvin !” she responded, her eyes filling with tears and her 
heart bursting with joy. 

He bent and kissed her face over and over again. 

“Can you forgive me, Mabel, dear ? I have spoiled your life — 
I have done you cruel wrong. Can you forget all, and love me as 
you did years ago?” 

“Yes,” she sweetly said, lifting his hand to her lips. 

“For this neglect, Mabel,” he said with tender caress, “I shall 
devote to you and Della the remaining years of my life. My 
prayer is for your speedy recovery and my wishes are for your 
comfort and happiness. Our beautiful daughter will nurse you 
back to health, and never again will our loving hearts be sun- 
dered.” 

Toward noon Della returned to Glen Heights, and told Mrs. 
Anthony the story of her father and mother, and that they were 
reconciled at last. 

Then she revealed her intention of staying with her mother 
until she was able to travel with her father, before returning to 
Clarindene, and acquainting the household of the glad tidings. 

In less than a week, Mrs. Dare was able to be up and take a 
short walk with Della in the fresh open air ; and not long after- 
wards was ready and strong enough to leave with her beloved 
husband. 

Mr. Dare still possessed considerable wealth, and delighted his 
wife by purchasing an elegant residence in the City of Hartford. 


36 


DELLA DARE 


XV. 

DELLA^S RETURN TO CLARINDENE. 

The inmates of the beautiful home at Clarindene were made 
joyous by the return of Della who held such powerful sway over 
their hearts. 

Her fiance, Charles Fraser, stood at the iron gate, impatiently 
waiting the approach of the carriage. 

Assisting her to alight, he kissed her rosy cheek. Walking 
up the broad gravel path that led to the front veranda, he turned 
to her and said : 

“How I have missed you, darling, and how glad I am to have 
you with me again.” 

Glancing up at one of the large windows Della saw the beam- 
ing face of Raye Fraser. 

How changed it was since she first came to him. 

It bore the time-worn marks of seventy years, and his hair 
was as white as it could ever be. 

By the time Della and Charles reached the great hall, he was 
there ready to welcome her with fatherly affection. 

She had not been home an hour before she told those dear to 
her how she had found her father and mother, while away, re- 
lating the cause of their separation and picturing the scene of 
their glad reunion. 

“Then the woman who brought you here was really your 
mother,” said Raye Fraser, his mind wandering back to the day 
when Della came to him a beautiful child. 

“Yes”, returned Della, her face all aglow, “she was my 
mother”. 

“I am glad to hear this intelligence,” acknowledged Raye 
Fraser, “but it takes away from me my Tittle Sunbeam,' he said 
mournfully, with something like tears filling his dim eyes. 

“I shall always be your ‘Little Sunbeam’,” was her consoling 
reply. “I going to my father and mother for a time need not 
separate us entirely.” 

“You will be graciously received whenever you choose to visit 
us. Besides they have promised to come in a few days and 
thank you for your great kindness to their child.” 

With these cheering words, Raye Fraser looked up and smiled. 


A VISIT TO AUNT MATILDA 37 

Half an hour later Della and Charles were alone in the sitting 
room. 

“Della, darling,” he began, toying with the beautiful diamond 
that sparkled on her dainty hand, “how rejoiced am I to learn 
you have found your parents. You remember your promise in 
the garden ? ‘When I have found my mother’ ” — repeating her 
words. 

She interrupted him by placing her finger over his lips. 

“It would be unfair to deprive my parents of my company so 
soon, Charles dear,” she said, with a coy glance into his eyes that 
healed the wound she was inflicting. “Besides I have promised 
to go with them this summer to visit Aunt Matilda. I will devote 
this summer to them, and after that, if I live, perhaps — ” 

“I will claim my bride,” he interrupted, kissing her red lips. 

The day that brought Mr. and Mrs. Dare to Clarindene was 
one never to be forgotten. 

The meeting with Raye Fraser, the kind guardian of Della all 
these years was sweet and pathetic. 

When the mother clasped his aged hand in hers after a lapse 
of nine years, and looked in his kindly face, her dark eyes 
flooded with tears and her happy heart swelled with the most 
profound gratitude. 

When they took their departure, after a most delightful visit, 
Della’s sunny presence went with them. 

Raye Fraser and his nephew were loath to part with her even 
for a short time, but she cheered them with endearing words, and 
promised to return as a “Sunbeam” as often as her parents would 
permit her to do so. ^ 

XVI. 

A VISIT TO AUNT MATILDA. 

Della loved her beautiful Hartford home, because her father 
and mother dwelt there in harmony and love; and being near 
Rosalind filled her heart with gladness. 

Many a happy day was spent in her friend’s neat and cosy 
home. 

The humble cottage near Clarindene has been sold to strangers, 
and Harry Garner was complying with his dear sister’s wish. 


38 


DELLA DARE 


He was always glad to see Della, and express his best wishes 
for her future welfare. 

His manly Christian character helped him to be reconciled to 
his fate. 

The bright spring days warmed into summer, and Della was 
making preparations to go with her parents back to the small 
village from whence she fled over nine years ago. 

Shortly after Della’s parents began life anew, Alvin Dare 
wrote his sister Matilda the story of Della and her mother, add- 
ing that Mabel was innocent of any wrong. 

The lovely girl smiled at her mental picture of Aunt Matilda’s 
possible indignation at the escaped culprit thus tardily brought 
back to justice ; but her smile faded into a demure expression of 
gravity, as she caught sight of her in her accustomed seat in 
the door-way. They were giving Aunt Matilda an unexpected 
surprise. 

She was the same woman in spite of her advanced years, 
carrying the same manner, but showing a decided change in her 
hair and face. The cold hard lines about the mouth were still 
the same that her niece remembered so well. 

The click of the gate aroused her from her reverie. 

Recognizing her brother at once, she threw up her arms in 
exclamation of delight. 

Alvin Dare kissed his sister in fond greeting, and then said 
to her: 

“These are my precious jewels,” pointing to wife and daughter. 

Miss Matilda took her sister-in-law’s hand rather stifly, and 
expressed the pleasure of seeing Della again in not a very warm 
fashion. She still resented her sudden disappearance, and step- 
ping a little to one side, ushered the new comers into the house. 

It was plain to see that Aunt Matilda was not deeply interested 
in her brother’s exalted praise of Della and her mother, as she 
went about preparing the wholesome country meal. The table 
was soon spread with a dozen delicacies, besides the white home* 
made bread and sweet golden butter. 

Della in particular partook of the fresh repast with a relish 
her aunt could not understand. 

Toward evening Della began to show signs of weariness from 
her long journey, and soon afterwards was enjoying a sweet rest 
in the same room she had occupied when a child. 


A VISIT TO AUNT MATILDA 


39 


The next morning she accompanied her parents on an early 
stroll. 

As they walked along side of the small running brook, Mabel 
pointed out to her husband the place under the tall sycamore, 
where she sat and talked with Della when but a blooming child. 
Time had wrought many changes in the lives of these three, 
but there was little or no change in the village and vicinity. 

A wave of sadness pervaded Della's heart, when she heard 
that dear old Guido had been sold, and she could mount him no 
more and gallop down the long dusty lane. 

In a couple of weeks the summer visit ended and the guests 
were glad to return to their beautiful Hartford home. 

The trees were radiant with the fall colors, and October had 
come with delightful days. 

Toward the close of the month, Charles Fraser claimed Della 
as his fair bride. 

The wedding was solemnized at Clarindene, and Raye Fraser 
would have it no other than a brilliant affair. 

Among the numerous guests were Mr. and Mrs. Herman 
Hayden, his sister Florence, Dr. Glen Lawrence and wife, for- 
merly Mrs. Anthony, and Harry Garner. 

Many wished the happy pair a life of sunshine with just enough 
shadow to remind them of the sorrows of others.' 

Florence greeted them with a new light in her face and a 
softer tone in her voice. 

Turning to one side, she said to Della : 

“I wish you all joy, Della, and I trust we will ever be friends. 
I have found an ideal love, and expect to be a happy bride on 
New Years day”. 

Della smiled, and wished her success and joy in her new 
anticipations. 

It had been decided before Della's marriage that her future 
home should be Clarindene. 

Raye Fraser felt he had but few remaining years on this beau- 
tiful earth, and his greatest desire was to live them with his 
adopted nephew, and little “Sunbeam”. 



BELVIDORE 


I. 

When Robert Earle left England a year or two before, he had 
no intention of going to America. 

Sunny Italy charmed him for a month, France for a longer 
time, then he sought the charm of America. 

At length he found himself in the village of Mt. Aubem. It’s 
beautiful lanes, artistic windings, and over hanging branches of 
trees were enough to charm any one; but the day on which he 
met Madelaine Carson, and saved her life, he knew that some- 
thing had led him on to his fate. 

She was very fond of going down to the strand, and climbing 
to the top of an out-looking rock; and on this eventful day, 
heedless of the gathering storm, she sauntered off in her morning 
dress of blue, swinging her large hat in her hand, instead of plac- 
ing it on her head of chestnut brown hair, and tieing the blue 
strings under her dimpled chin. 

Meanwhile the tempest gathered, and the day darkened ; a wild 
summer storm was coming on that had been brewing for weeks. 
The sun was lost to sight amid masses of threatening clouds 
with thunder and lightning in their black bosoms. 

Madelaine had reached the strand, and gained the summit of 
the rock. 

One of her supreme delights was in watching a storm; and 
standing there with her brown hair flying loosely from her bare 
head, she looked out upon the mad sea with glorious dark eyes. 

The storm came on. The air grew thick and sulphurous, the 
lightning flashed out at intervals, and shot across the black sky, 
the thunder muttered and cracked in the distance; and over all 
was a dull surging roar — the sound of approaching waters. 

Rapt and inspired she gazed on the sublime scene unmindful 
of the terrible danger that menaced her. 

( 41 ) 


42 


BELVIDORE 


A salt mist beat sharply against her face. 

With a startled cry she awoke from her dream, and looking 
downward clasped her hands in an agony of fear. 

“Oh, God !” she cried, lifting her white face to the dark 
heavens, “the tide is coming in, and I have stayed too late!” 
“Too late!” echoed in her ears like the sound of a death knell. 

The green waves were creeping up the rock, and in a little 
while they would close over her. 

She sank down and covering her face with her hands, tried to 
pray. She thought of her lonely mother in their cottage, her 
fretting because of her stay, and her great sorrow because she 
never came back. 

The leaping waves were creeping up, up, up, and unconscious- 
ness began to steal over her. 

At this juncture a ringing shout pierced the air, a sudden 
splashing plunge was heard, then her form was caught up by 
strong masculine arms and heroicly borne thru the mad waters. 

“Thank God! we are safe!” exclaimed a deep musical voice, 
as a place of safety was reached. 

Madelaine seemed conscious of nothing but the strong clasp 
of the arms supporting her and the noble face smiling down upon 
her, as he placed her on a sure footing. 

“Where shall I conduct you, madam?” said Madelaine's de- 
liverer, after the storm had spent its fury, leaving the sky clear 
and blue. 

“To the cottage on the hill”. 

“So I supposed — I saw you coming down a couple of hours 
ago and a little later ascend the rock, and when the tide came 
in so rapidly, I feared you might not have noticed it, so I hur- 
ried down and you know I was not a moment too soon. 

Do not thank me any more please, you are wet and trembling — 
let us hurry on.” 

During the progress of the storm Mrs. Carson was filled with 
fear and anxiety for her daughter, and was starting seaward, as 
Madelaine and her companion were approaching the hill. 

“Oh, Madelaine, my dear child, you can not imagine how I 
have suffered — why can not you keep away from that dreadful 
sea !” 

“I should have been carried off with the tide, but for the 
timely aid of this gentleman”, laughed Madelaine; and turning 


BELVIDORE 43 

her bright face upon her deliverer, she said, with a look in her 
brown eyes more expressive than words : 

“I shall never forget the one who has saved me from an awful 
death/’ 

The stranger smiled and bowed, and was taking his leave, 
when Mrs. Carson entreated him not to go without her thanks — 
she wished to know his name that she might remember it with 
gratitude. 

“Robert Earle, at your service.” And as he was to remain 
in the neighborhood a few weeks longer, he would beg per- 
mission to call again, and learn how the young lady fared. 

Mrs. Carson could not find it in her heart to refuse so cour- 
teous a request, 

II. 

The Earles of Belvidore did not belong to one of the wealth- 
iest families in England ; but they had carried themselves haught- 
ily to all alike, rich and poor, and many predicted that some day 
their pride would have a fall. 

Edward Earle and his wife held the greatest pride in their 
son, the heir of Belvidore. He would marry some well bred 
heiress, perhaps his cousin Gladys. 

He had inherited his father’s frank face, clear blue eyes, and 
dark clustering hair; but unlike his twin sister he had not in- 
herited his mother’s pride. He had a tender heart and a loving 
nature, and was more gifted than the generality of men. 

He had been smiled upon by some of the loveliest women in 
London; but no smile lingered in his memory, but that of the 
young girl he had saved. 

And what a face! — marvelous in young beauty and exquisite 
coloring, together with a sweet charming expression of innocent 
delight. 

Quite often he directed his steps toward the small cottage, and 
enjoyed the company of the young girl and her widowed mother 
who were always courteous and kind, but he longed to meet 
Madelaine alone again, and tell her of his love. 

She had a mind and soul as beautiful as her face. 

She loved the fresh morning air, the song of the birds, and 
all nature’s wonders. She was fond of her books and music. 


44 


BELVIDORE 


She loved all things beautiful, good, and noble, she loved her 
kind mother. 

Robert had made many friends at Mt. Aubem, but only sought 
the presence of Madelaine Carson. 

One day earlier than usual he sauntered down the path that 
led to her home in the hope of seeing her breathing the fresh 
morning air. 

He waited and watched, but in vain. Then he took his stand 
beneath a large oak tree. 

His patience was soon rewarded. 

He saw her coming down the avenue that led toward the sea, 
with her hat tied under her chin, and a favorite book under her 
arm. 

Her glossy brown hair was coiled upon the back of her head, 
making her appear a year older than she did yesterday. 

He advanced to meet her, bowing with grave politeness. 

"‘You are fond of poetry,” he said in undisguished pleasure, 
noting that the book was a copy of “Longfellow’s Poems.” 

“Yes. I never tire of reading the story of Evangeline.” 

“You promised I might accompany you down to the beach 
sometime. Miss Carson,” said the young man sweetly. “Shall I 
be intruding this morning?” 

What else could she do, but give him permission to go with 
her down to the beach. 

They walked on together till they came near the cliff where 
a long row of trees gave deep shade. 

“This is my favorite resort,” remarked Madelaine, “I often 
come here with my books.” 

They spent a portion of the forenoon reading and talking, but 
Robert Earle could not tell whether the beautiful girl beside 
him loved him or not. 

With him it was love at first sight. 

Sitting there under the power of great personality, he forgot 
he was heir of Belvidore, forgot his proud mother and sister, 
and that she was a poor unknown girl, forgot everything, but 
that he was alone with Madelaine, and that he loved her. He 
soon found himself declaring his love in an earnest manner. 

“Madelaine, do you love me in return?” 

“I — I do not know,” she faltered. I have only known you a 
short time, but I feel very grateful to you for saving my life.” 


BELVIDORE 


45 


“You must love me Madelaine,” he said, with kind eagerness. 
“I am giving you the first true love of my heart. Will you try?” 

“I will try,” was the soft echo. 

She admired his tall manly figure, and fair English face; his 
dark hair, clear blue soulful eyes, and gentle manner ; and thought 
very likely in time she could give him a responsive affection. 

Conscious of a new hope he lifted her white hand and pressed 
it to his lips, wining from her a promise to meet him again on 
the morrow. 

They parted at the foot of the hill. 

To Madelaine it seemed something of her life had gone with 
him. 

While climbing the hill she said to herself : 

“What a grand face! After all I believe I do love him, but 
could not tell him so. I only gave him an admiring glance of deep 
gratitude. 

III. 

An early June morning; a cloud here and there in the sky to 
mar the perfect blue, but the sun still shone in marked radiance, 
and the pet bird in Madelaine’s home sang his sweetest song. 

In his room at the Holland House Robert Earle sat reading. 
The hand of the clock on the quaint mantle piece pointed to a 
quarter of nine. He was to meet Madelaine at ten. 

A sudden rap on his door broke the solemnity of the hour. 

He quickly rose to open it. 

“A cablegram for Mr. Robert Earle”, bowed the obliging 
clerk, and then withdrew. 

The young man lost no time in perusing his important mes- 
sage. 

It came from his mother and ran as follows : 

“My dear son, — come home at once. We are in great dis- 
tress, and your father is quite ill.” 

He read it with a multitude of disturbing thoughts. 

What should he do? He wanted to marry Madelaine and 
take her home to Belvidore. This, however, was out of the 
question at present. 

His family were in sore distress, and his father perhaps at 
the point of death. 


46 


BELVIDORE 


He determined to see her, tho, before he took his leave, and 
win from her a promise to marry him when he should return. 

An hour later he must take the train for New York. 

With the cablegram in his hand he hurried out, and looked 
toward the cottage for a sign of Madelaine. 

He walked passed the house and glanced impatiently at the 
windows. 

Suddenly the door opened and Madelaine appeared inviting 
him in. 

“Mamma went to Winnewood this morning,” she said, “and I 
am here alone keeping house. You know I was not to meet you 
till ten.” 

Fortune favored him so far he thought in finding her alone. 

Accepting the chair so graciously offered him, he said in 
answer : 

“I could not wait till ten to see you, my dear Madelaine, as 
I must be off for New York by that time.” 

She looked up in surprise. 

“I just received a cablegram from home a few minutes ago,” 
he explained, “telling me my father is quite ill, perhaps dying, 
and my family are in deep distress. I have not an hour to loose 
before leaving Mt. Aubern and you,” he ended in a tone of 
regret. 

He noted her pale agitated face, and the look of deep sympathy 
in her eyes. 

“I am sorry you are in trouble,” she said sadly, “and I shall 
surely miss you when you are gone.” 

His face brightened. 

“You love me then, Madelaine? Say that you love me, and 
will marry me when I come back in search of you. It won’t be 
long. May I call you wife, when I return?” 

“Your wife?” she repeated, and the very sound of the words 
seemed to drive the color from her face. 

“Yes, dearest, I will take you home to England, you and your 
mother — to Belvidore, where you will always be gay and happy.” 

“You are a wealthy man, and 1 a poor girl. What would your 
people say — your proud mother? Would they be willing?” 

“When they see and know you, Madelaine, they will love you.” 
“Give me your promise, darling,” he urged, “and say that you 
love me. In ten minutes I must leave you.” 


BELVIDORE 47 

He took her hand in his, looking earnestly the while into her 
eyes of unshed tears. 

“May I take your sweet promise with me, Madelaine? It will 
comfort me in my sorrow. You love me, Madelaine.” 

“I love you,” she whispered, and her eyes fell under his pierc- 
ing glance. 

“And you will marry me?” 

“Yes,” she answered softly, and a look of relief ^ame in the 
young man’s face. 

“You will be true, Madelaine?” rising to go. 

“Say, ‘I will be true, Robert.’ You have never called me by 
that name. Let me hear it now.” 

When she repeated his name, and promised to be true, his lips 
touched hers, sealing their love in the fondest affection. 

“Goodby, Madelaine, my love, till I see you again — and be 
true.” 

These were his last words at parting. 

When she raised her beautiful eyes, they were filled with 
tears — he had left her and was gone. 

IV. 

When the white cliffs of England rose before him, Robert 
Earle was nearing his home; but the vision of fair Madelaine 
kept pace with him tho the wide ocean lay between them. 

At the first glimpse of that stately magnificient mansion, his 
heart stirred within him, for he loved Belvidore with its splen- 
did gardens, its rare and beautiful flowers, the tall ancient trees 
with all the passion of his youth. It was hard to imagine his 
father ill, and the dear old home under a cloud. 

On arrival his sister Roberta was the first to greet him. Her 
tear-stained face was free from any smiles, as she kissed him 
in welcome. 

“Oh, Robert, mother has fretted constantly for fear something 
might happen you before reaching home.” 

“How is father?” he asked, “and where is mother?” 

“Father is no better, and mother is in her boudoir.” 

Mrs. Earle looked up when her son entered, and held out her 
arms to him. 


48 


BELVIDORE 


‘‘Oh, my son!’^ she cried, her face wet with tears, “we are in 
the deepest sorrow. Thank heaven you are here!’^ 

“It may not be so bad as you think, mother, he said, trying 
to comfort her. “Father may recover.** 

“This is only a part of our trouble, Robert, and our only hope 
is in you.” 

He looked into her gray eyes inquiringly. 

“What is it mother? you know I would do anything in the 
world for you and as he spoke, he wiped the tears from her 
face. 

“God bless you, my noble son, for those words, and may my 
faith in you never grow dim. Let us go now to your father — 
he calls incessantly for you. We will talk of our other trouble, 
and its remedy, later on.** 

They left the elegant bourdoir together, went down the long 
hall, and entered the chamber where the angel of death stood at 
the threshold. 

Mrs. Earle dismissed the nurse, saying, “I will ring when 
you are required.*’ 

The large beautiful room was bathed in evening twilight; and 
on the white drawn face that lay on the pillows the sun of life 
was setting. 

Edward Earle opened his eyes upon his only son. 

“I am glad to see you, Robert. Thank God you are here.** 

Robert lifted his father’s thin hand and pressed it to his lips. 

“My dear father,” he said, tenderly, “I have come to relieve 
you of all trouble.” 

“It is a matter of finance,” returned the feeble voice. 

“I have loved gold too well. I have failed, Robert, I have 
failed,” he moaned. 

“We shall find some way out of the difficulty, father,” said 
his son, hopefully. 

“1 borrowed a large sum of money,” the dying man went on, 
“to place in those gold and silver mines that were destroyed by 
water ; and now the firm has sent in a notice for the payment of 
the loan. 

They hold a heavy mortgage on Belvidore; and if the money 
is not paid within six months Belvidore will be sold.” 

A painful cry escaped Robert Earle’s lips. 

Belvidore sold ! — the grand home of his boyhood ! 


BELVIDORE 


49 


The very words pierced his young heart. 

Edward Earle turned his eyes on his wife. 

“Adelaide, you tell our son how he can save Belvidore — the 
old home we love so well.’^ 

Robert Earle looked at the silver moon rising over the trees, 
and thought of the lovely moonlight walks with sweet Madelaine, 

“My own darling,” he said to himeslf, “how I long to be by 
your side.” 

His mother touched him on the shoulder, and looked earnestly 
into his face. 

“Robert,” she whispered, “for Heaven’s sake, do not thwart 
our plans ! Y ou are our only hope.” 

“What are they mother,” he anxiously inquired. 

“You recollect, my son, do you not, that years ago we set our 
hearts on you marrying Gladys some day, your pretty cousin, 
heiress of great wealth. 

She has now developed into beautiful womanhood, and her 
father has promised to bestow upon her the sum of a hundred 
thousand pounds on her wedding day. 

Just think of it, Robert !” 

“You have not seen Gladys for three years, she having been 
away at school,” she continued, “and her face with its perfect 
features has grown so lovely, and her manner so sweet and 
charming, you could not resist loving her, Robert, and she has 
revealed to me in every way but words that she fairly wor- 
ships you. You can easily win her my son, and Belvidore is 
restored.” 

The pleading voice ceased, and profound silence filled the room. 

Robert Earle looked again at the gleam of the moonlight, and 
Madelaine’s brilliant face rose again before him. 

How he had urged her to be true, and now his proud mother 
pleads with him to be false. 

He tried to tell her of Madelaine, that she was his promised 
wife, and he must return for her; but his mother’s voice ar- 
rested the words that came to his lips. 

“Robert, my dear son, you will save us ?” 

The solemn silence was again broken by the father’s faint 
voice. 


50 


BELVIDORE 


“My son, you do not answer. Must I die with the dreadful 
thought that Belvidore is lost forever, your mother and sister’s 
beautiful home? 

Will you contract this marriage to save my honor, and to save 
Belvidore ?” 

How could he tell his dying father of fair Madelaine, who 
had nothing but her wonderful beauty and her pure heart and 
soul ? 

Robert Earle’s face was white with emotion and his lips 
quivered, perceptibly. 

A sudden inspiration leaped into his troubled eyes. 

He could temporize. There was no need to tell his father 
the whole truth. He must die in peace. 

“My dearest father,” he said, caressing his pale brow, “you 
know I would do almost anything on earth for you.” 

“Heaven bless you, my boy!” came from the white lips in 
almost a whisper. “I shall die happy now — Belvidore is saved.” 

“I knew you would not fail us,” spoke his mother in glad 
tones. And Robert felt he had done right in retaining his secret. 
There might be another way to save Belvidore. 

His father’s dim eyes drooped heavily — a look of repose came 
over his death-like features. He opened them again and called 
for Roberta. She bent over him, and kissed his pallid brow. 

Half an hour later Edward Earle bade each one a tender fare- 
well; and a few minutes more left them to mourn his peaceful 
death. 


V. 

On the day after the funeral, Robert found his mother in 
their private park among the blooming flowers. 

Her crape mourning dress, and countenance, and tearful eyes, 
touched him deeply. He went up to her and kissed the pale face. 

With his eyes on the beauty of flowers and fountains, on the 
tall spreading trees, and the glitter of green, all the passionate 
love for Belvidore swelled in his heart, and he felt he would 
rather suffer the pangs of near death than loose his beautiful 
home. 

“Mother,” he said, almost abruptly, “tell me — is there no 
other way to save Belvidore than with a woman’s money?” 


BELVIDORE 


51 


“No other way,” she replied. The woman wishes it, Robert, 
so there can be nothing mean about it, and Gladys is the love- 
liest—” 

“My dearest mother,” he interrupted, “never mind Gladys Hay- 
wood now, — I have something else to say to you. I have just 
received a letter from America — ” 

He intended to tell her then and there that he loved beautiful 
Madelaine, and was bethrothed to her, but the look of terror on 
his mother’s face drove the words back — he could not utter them. 

She saw the writing on the delicate envelope which he held in 
his hand. 

Her voice trembled, and her white lips quivered, as she cried, 
“Robert, my son, it can not be — oh, it can not be !” and fell 
fainting into his arms. 

If this outburst of feeling was caused by a letter, what would 
have happened if he had told her all. 

How he loved his dear mother; and when she opened her 
eyes, it was natural he should do all in his power to comfort her. 

Robert Earle first met his cousin Gladys after his return from 
abroad at Mrs. Haywood’s dinner party. 

She was standing by the draped window in the spacious draw- 
ing room — a tall slender girl with proud bearing and a dainty 
figure. 

A rich dress of pale blue fell in graceful folds around her, 
leaving bare her finely moulded arms and neck, a perfect white 
throat, and peerless shoulders from which a shower of fine lace 
seemed to fall. 

She had a fair high bred face with full red lips, brilliant 
blue eyes, and a mass of golden hair clustered in waving lines 
about her shapely head. 

She looked so beautiful in her delicate dainty loveliness, that 
Robert stood watching her for some minutes in silence before he 
spoke to her. 

“Is this cousin Gladys so wonderfully changed?” he asked 
reaching her side. “I scarcely should have known you had I met 
you elsewhere.” 

Gladys turned — there was a moment’s pause — then smiling with 
graceful movement, she held out her hand. 


52 


BELVIDORE 


think I should have known you, Robert, any where,'^ she 
laughed, “tho your hair is considerable darker and your features 
more regular/' 

“Shall I accept this as a compliment, Gladys?” 

“You may if you wish,” she returned, her face full of warm 
blushes and bright smiles. 

She expected to see her own happy thoughts reflected on his 
handsome face, but a shade of sadness swept over it instead, and 
a far off look came into his eyes which she could not divine. 

The gorgeous drawing room was brilliantly lighted, and the 
dinning room was dotted here and there with vases of rare flowers. 
The music was harmonious and refreshing, while witty con- 
versations reigned supreme round Mrs. Haywood's festive boards. 

When the last of the guests had left the house, Gladys was 
soon alone with her maid in her room. 

Never did she look more lovely as when her unbound hair 
fell like a shower over her white shoulders. Her beauty needed 
no ornament to add to its imperial charm. 

She dismissed her maid, and sank back in her easy chair. 

“How handsome he has grown,” she mused “and how I have 
loved him all these years ! Should he lose home, position, every- 
thing, and be penniless tomorrow, I should still love him. He 
does not love me ; yet he is courteous and kind. But he will love 
me !” “I am glad,” she went on, triumphantly, “I am young and 
fair. I am glad I can give him wealth. I am glad I can give him 
Belvidore.” A sweet smile played round the rose-bud mouth, 
as she still sat in meditation. “I wonder when he will speak — 
his mother thought it would not be long.” 

Not a shadow of doubt crossed her mind. She did not know 
this man had given to another the love of his life, and had prom- 
ised to marry her. 

“Robert,” said his mother, the ensuing day, “I am so pleased 
to see you admire your cousin Gladys.” 

“What man could help admiring Gladys Haywood, mother? 
She is lovely beyond comparison, and as good as she is beautiful.” 

But in his own heart he declared she was not Madelaine. 

Had Gladys been less gentle, less innocent, and not such a 
queen of beauty, it would have been easier for him not to ad- 
mire her. 


BELVIDORE 


53 


He read truth and honor in her fair face, and tender affection 
in her clear eyes ; and had he never met Madelaine he could have 
lavished his whole heart on this fair woman. 

“I am so happy, Robert,” said his mother that evening when 
he bade her good night. “All will be well, and our troubles will 
soon be ended.” 

He thought it would be cruel to destroy her gleam of happi- 
ness even by a single word. 


VI. 

The night of Mrs. Stanley’s reception was one that Robert 
Earle never forgot, — the night on which the greatest battle of his 
life was fought. 

He was driven to the Haywood house, and ushered into the 
reception room to await the coming of Gladys and her mother. It 
was not long before a woman swept in so lovely that her beauty 
dazzled him. 

Her superb figure was draped in white satin and lace, a neck- 
lace of diamonds encircled her white throat, and her sweet face 
marvelous in its coloring was radiant with smiles. 

Soon Mrs. Haywood joined them, her rich dress hanging in 
simplicity over her well preserved figure. 

When Robert placed the light wrap round the white shoulders 
of his cousin Gladys, he trembled before the fire of her great 
loveliness, and the thought flashed in his mind, he had to speak 
but a word, and this fresh young beauty was his. 

As they entered the exquisitely decorated room in Mrs. Stan- 
ley’s home, he noted the sensation she made. 

Even his pretty sister Roberta in her dress of pale pink and 
pearl ornaments was compelled to step aside, and give place tq 
this vision of imperial loveliness. 

In a short time she was surrounded by a crowd of admirers 
all anxious for a word or a smile. 

As Robert and Gladys walked thru the conservatory envious 
eyes folowed him, and many would have given all they possessed 
to have taken JiiS' place; but her sweetest smiles and tenderest 
glances were only for him. He could not help feeling flattered. 

Most of the guests did not remain late. 


54 


BELVIDORE 


As Gladys and her mother passed out into the bright starlit 
night on the arm of Robert Earle, his thoughts went back to 
America, and the beloved face of his promised wife. 

When the luxurious carriage stopped before the Haywood 
Mansion, Gladys wondered if he would say a tender word to her 
before bidding them good night. 

She smiled bewitchingly into his face as she hefd out her hand. 

He took it courteously, and raised it to his lips, then recover- 
ing himself, he merely said, “Good-night,’’ to both of them, rais- 
ing his hat, and then disappearing in the moonlight. 

Four months had passed since the death of Edward Earle. 

Robert had thought of the two remaining months a thousand 
times, and shuddered as he thought of the cost of redeeming his 
grand home. 

He loved truth and honor, but was compelled to wear the sem- 
blance of untruth ; he was betrothed to one woman and was com- 
pelled to appear as the betrothed of another. 

Circumstances seemed to be mastering him. 

His face was losing its comeliness and was growing haggard 
from inward pain. 

The day after Mrs. Stanley’s reception he received a letter 
from Madelaine, telling him how she loved him, and how she 
missed him. She was still true, and longed for his return. 

He knew she would share the most bitter poverty with him, 
but what could he do to support her? 

He tried, but failed to fancy his proud mother and sister liv- 
ing in a genteel house with scarcely the comforts of life. 

And it seemed he would rather die than see Belvidore sold. 

How swiftly the time was passing. 

Should he ask Gladys to name a day for their marriage, and 
by so doing secure his beautiful home, happiness and peace for 
his mother and sister? 

Or should he save his honor, and tell Madelaine when he would 
return to wed her, and be ready to plunge in the struggle of life 
for a living? 

Her letter was so tender and true, so full of her lofty soul. 

Her heart would surely break were he false to her. 

“God help me !” he prayed, “and lead me not into temptation.” 


BELVIDORE 


55 


“I will not sell my honor for gold/' he cried, almost aloud. “Her 
sweet letter has saved me. Thank Heaven the spell is gone. The 
grand home must go. He would return to Madelaine." 

“Why put it off any longer?” he reasoned. “I might as well 
go now as any time. Should I remain here, my resolutions may 
weaken under the magnetic power of beauty and gold.” 

In a few days he would leave “on a matter of business.” 

He would allow his mother and sister to enjoy their happy 
dreams a few more weeks. 

When he had married Madelaine he would write and tell them 
all. 

He and his bride would settle somewhere in America; and in 
time he would build a new home, not like Belvidore, far from it, 
but a neat cottage where love would reign supreme. 

VII. 

Belvidore was full of bustle and excitement. 

Robert was leaving suddenly. He did not say where he was 
going, simply going on a matter of business. His face was 
fixed and pale, and he moved about like one in a dream. 

He dare not bid any one a suspicious farewell. He dare not 
meet Gladys again before he should go. 

He gained the steamer a few minutes before it sailed. 

When it touched the shores of Madelaine’s native land, a 
happy light came into his eyes, and a longing in his heart. All 
the sweet memories of that small village rose afresh in his mind. 

Would he find her again somewhere near the cliff? He felt 
assured she would welcome him warmly. 

After adjusting his toilet in the same room he occupied be- 
fore at the Holland House, he went out in search of his beloved 
Madelaine. 

As he walked down the avenue that led to the cottage on the 
hill, he caught a glimpse of white thru the branches of the trees 
in the woods near by. v 

A flush of pleasure spread her face as he came up to her. She 
held out both her hands to him. 

“Is it really you, Robert, or am I dreaming ?” she asked. 

“It is Robert,” he said. “Tell me I am welcome.” 


56 


BELVIDORE 


“You know that,” she responded, resting her brown head 
against his bosom. Pressing her close to him, he kissed her with 
passionate tenderness. 

He then led her to a familiar nook. 

“Robert,” she said, taking a seat beside him, “your face is 
changed. You look haggered and care worn. What troubles 
you ?” 

He looked at her a moment in silence. 

She saw his countenance assume a sudden perplexity. 

“What is it, my love,” she questioned tenderly. 

“Something must greatly grieve you to cause such a change.” 
“Let me share your sorrows as well as your joys,” she pleaded. 

“Madelaine,” he said and there was a touch of sadness in his 
voice, “I had planned to take you to England, and make you mis- 
tress of Belvidore. I had hoped to lavish wealth, luxury upon 
you; and it grieves me I can give you nothing but poverty, at 
least for the present. She looked at him wonderingly, unable to 
comprehend him. 

He told her all that had happened while he was home. 

How he had found his mother and sister in the deepest sorrow ; 
how the dark cloud over his beautiful home was revealed to him ; 
told her of the terrible struggle in his mind while father lay 
dying — of his father and mother’s plan to save Belvidore. 

He cared nothing for himself, he told her, but for his mother 
and sister. 

“It will break my mother’s heart,” he said, “when Belvidore 
is sold.” 

As she listened her face grew pale — paler. 

“Tell me” she said, gently, “what are you going to do, Robert.” 

“Marry you first, my darling,” he answered. 

“And then ?” she said, in almost a whisper. 

“We will settle here somewhere in America, and build a new 
home. Should you mind being a poor man’s wife, Madelaine?” 

“No, I should not mind that at all with you, Robert. I have 
been poor all my life.” 

A silence fell between them broken only by Madelaine’s voice. 

“How well you love me Robert.” 

He wondered a little at her strange manner. 

He drew the lovely face to him, and kissed her again and 
again. 


BELVIDORE 


57 


She unclasped the warm loving hands. She rose and stood 
before him. The expressions coming and going on her face he 
never forgot. Her clear dark eyes looked into his. 

“I shall treasure every word you have spoken — every tender 
caress but I shall never marry you — I shall never be your wife. 

I love you too well, Robert, to strip you of home, wealth, po- 
sition; drag you down to poverty, and send you disgraced into 
exile. Heaven forbid that I should break your mother’s heart, 
and ruin your sister’s life. Your duty, Robert, is to marry your 
cousin, save your home, your mother and sister’s happiness, and 
in time you will love your wife.” 

As one dazed with sudden pain Robert Earle looked at the 
lovely face pale with emotion, lofty in it’s noble resolve. 

With a deep groan he buried his face in his hands. 

She drew nearer to him with tearful eyes, and sat down be- 
side him. 

‘Tt is hard for me, too” she said. ‘T shall suffer all my life.” 
‘‘Say goodby to me, Robert, the sun is almost down. Oh, my dear 
lost love, goodby !” 

She unclasped his loving arms and passed out of them. She 
heard a low cry, — but dared not look back. On she sped thru the 
woods, and up the hill to her home. 

VIII. 

Robert Earle returned to London in due time. 

During his absence all the household of Belvidore were ill at 
ease, and longed for his presence again. 

His mother and sister would look repeatedly in the distance 
for a glimpse of his coming, while Gladys meditated day and 
night — “would he ever come back, and would he ever tell her of 
his love.” 

Their joy knew no bounds when he made his appearance one 
rainy day. It was dreary without, but within all was peace and 
sunshine. 

Gladys greeted him with open arms, and he fell into them 
like a weary child seeking rest. 

If he were to marry her why put it off any longer? So he 
asked her to name the day. 


58 


BELVIDORE 


She could not perceive why he was not happy, but reasoned 
he was still mourning the loss of his father. She was ever hope- 
ful that in time his grief would wear away, and he would be 
happy again in her great love. 

The tenth of November came at last, and a quiet marriage 
was solemnized at the Haywood Mansion — a marriage that 
was afterwards discussed all over London. It was such 
a simple but beautiful affair. 

The lovely bride was radiant with love and happiness, 
but many noted the pale, worn face of the bride-groom. 

After traveling extensively thru France and other coun- 
tries, Robert and Gladys returned to their delightful home, 
Belvidore. 

Robert could never put aside entirely the image of 
Madelaine from his heart, but was ever faithful to Gladys. She 
was so kind, so sweet, so good. She had given him her only 
love, she had given him Belvidore. 

He would devote his whole life to her, and execute, if pos- 
sible, her every whim and desire. 

The early morning drives with her husband were a source 
of great pleasure to Gladys, but her heart was more joyous 
when winter was budding into spring. 

One bright day in May, Robert was gathering for her 
some wild flowers in the woods, and she accepted them with 
all the delight of an innocent child. 

On their return he lifted her from the carriage with great 
care, but so absorbed was she in caressing the treasured bou- 
quet, she did not observe the large stone in her pathway. 

Suddenly she stumbled and fell! 

With a fearful cry, Robert raised her from the ground, 
and tenderly bore her into the house. 

A great anxiety seized the household. 

The great London surgeon was hurriedly called. On 
arrival he bent over her with grave doubts. 

Every possible care was tendered her, but all efforts 
were in vain to save her and her unborn child. 

Gladys saw the gloom on the faces of those about her, 
their anxiety, and unrestrained tears. 


BELVIDORE 


59 


"‘Am I going to die, Robert?” she asked. He could not 
answer her, but bent and caressed her hair, and kissed her 
pale face. 

“Robert,” she cried, “I have to leave you! Let me die in 
your arms.” 

He drew the fair head upon his breast, and sobbed aloud 
in his anguish. 

“Are you weeping, dear, because I have to die?” He 
pressed her closer to himself. 

“Then you love me, Robert?” 

“I love you, my darling wife,” he cried in a broken voice. 

A happy smile illumined her face and a sweet joy reigned 
in her heart. 

“Others will love you, Robert, but none will love you like 
your true Gladys. 

“Promise me, my dear husband, you will not forget me.” 

“I promise, my darling,” he said tenderly. 

The golden head fell, the white hands clung to him no 
longer, the pale lips were still, and Gladys Earle was dead. 

Two years have passed since Robert Earle’s wife was 
laid away in the beautiful cemetery not far from Belvidore. 

He had mourned for his lovely wife sincerely; but in 
his lonely hours his mind would wander back to the cottage 
among the hills, to Madelaine Carson — 

“Did she still live, and did she still love him?” 

He would write to her that very day. 

Robert had often spoken to his mother and sister of 
beautiful Madelaine, of her lofty soul, and the great sacrifice 
she made for their happiness. 

It was early spring when Robert Earle made his third 
voyage to America; but this time he returned to England 
with Madelaine as his bride. 

His mother and sister received her graciously, and with 
loving hearts. 

Her mother had died a year ago. 

Robert and Madelaine traveled thru France and Switzer- 
land for nearly a year before returning home. 


60 


BELVIDORE 


The new mistress of Belvidore was greatly admired. Her 
American style of beauty captivated the heart of the English 
world, and she soon became one of the most popular women 
of London. 

Tho she and Robert preferred Belvidore to any other 
place of residence, they ever cherished it in their hearts as a 
sacred gift from his first wife, Gladys. 















\ 

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) 

t 



f 



i 


I 


1 


1 




i 


THE SOLDIER’S DAUGHTER 


On the night of her eighteenth birthday Mamie stood be- 
fore the full-length mirror which occupied the space between 
her boudoir windows. It reflected a tall, neat figure, dark 
brown eyes, hair of the same shade, and a complexion whose 
exquisite blending of pink and white was perhaps in some 
degree owing to art, but art so skillfully concealed that it 
was almost impossible to detect it. A rich, cream-colored 
silk, trimmed with expensive lace, adorned her faultless fig- 
ure, while diamonds sparkled here and there and a necklace 
of the same encircled her white throat. 

‘‘There, Miss Foster,” she exclaimed, stamping her little 
foot upon the soft velvet carpet, after her toilet had been 
completed. “You look brilliant enough to capture the heart 
of Arthur Wilson this time.” And with this assurance she 
hastily descended the stairs. 

When it was rumored that William Foster intended to 
celebrate his daughter’s birthday, it was not a surprise, for 
he was the most prosperous inhabitant of the village, and 
was deeply interested in the welfare of his two lovely daugh- 
ters than in all his acquired wealth. 

Something of a sensation was created when his older 
daughter, then married to a wealthy banker of Cleveland, 
arrived in the village, for Mrs. Fennimore, formerly Grace 
Foster, was at one time the belle of Cedarville. 

A close observer might have detected a resemblance in 
Mrs. Fennimore and her mother, as they sat together on 
the sofa in the spacious parlor, tho the daughter’s features 
were more regular, her eyes a soft gray, and her luxurious 
hair was of the deepest black. 

While discussing some of the advantages of Cleveland, 
Mamie entered, her costly diamonds glittering their best un- 
der the full light of the chandelier. 

( 63 ) 


64 


THE SOLDIER^S DAUGHTER 


"‘How beautiful Mamie looks tonight,” observed her 
mother, resting her arm on the back of the sofa. 

Mrs. Fennimore gazed upon her charming sister with in- 
creasing admiration and delight as she walked across the 
room to open the piano. 

It was almost half past eight when the crowd began to as- 
semble. 

A peculiar light shone in Mamie’s dark eyes when Mr. 
Wilson was announced. He was one of the few men who 
could sit at the piano and sing without making himself ri- 
diculous. He had a fine baritone voice, on which he spent 
a good deal of time and money, and, being a gentleman, sang 
like one. 

He was not fond of such displays, but Mamie had asked 
him and he could not refuse. 

There were then but few people in the parlor, almost every- 
body was out beside the sea, enjoying themselves under the 
light of the great moon. 

He sang, ^‘The Soldier’s Daughter,” because it was his 
favorite, and not from any sentimental longings or ideals 
troubling him just then, for he had acquired a comfortable 
cynicism regarding the tender passion. As for tihe rest, 
he was one of the professors at Bethany College, and was 
taking his summer vacation in the village and surround- 
ing country, making the most of his boating and fishing op- 
portunities. 

“She is beautiful and fair. 

Her eyes are blue and golden her hair. 

She is courteous and holy. 

Not of noble birth, but lowly. 

Is the maiden that I love.” 

As he looked up his eyes rested on a willowy, graceful 
figure that just came in — a young girl — not more than six- 
teen, apparently, and to his face she raised a pair of blue 
eyes with a curious stare. The next instant she bent her 
head toward the young man beside her who stood offering 
her some beautiful red roses. 


THE SOLDIER^S DAUGHTER 


65 


Wilson did not know that the young man was Charley 
Horton from the South. 

She took the roses and looked back at the singer, who 
thought he seldom seen a fairer vision. From the first he 
became conscious that he had met his ideal, and his heart 
throbbed more quickly as he grew a victim to her charms. 

“She is beautiful and fair,” 

Her eyes are blue and golden her hair,” 

he repeated to himself. 

Wilson rose as from an impulse. 

“Do you know that young lady? Will you present me?” 

“Certainly. She is Mamie’s dearest friend, who resides 
with her father on a small farm near the village. Her name 
is Ethel Lynn — ” 

“Present me,” he said, almost impatiently. 

Mrs. Fennimore gave him a steadfast look, laid her hand 
gently on his offered arm and crossed the room with him. 

Mamie’s eyes quickly followed them, and a look of keen 
disappointment drifted over her face when she perceived he 
was going to be presented to pretty Ethel. She longed to 
keep him at her side. So when Mr. Stanford asked her to 
sing one of his favorite songs, she felt indisposed ; but, with- 
out a murmur seated herself, and sang in a manner that al- 
most excelled Mr. Wilson’s efforts. 

“Ethel, my friend, — Mrs. Fennimore was saying, — Mr. Wil- 
son wishes to be presented to you. Miss Lynn, Arthur.” 

As half waking from a dream, he heard the soft, low 
voice, like the murmur of the sea, as he breathed the scent 
of her roses. 

“I am happy to meet you, Mr. Wilson. I am always glad 
to meet any friend of Mrs. Fennimore,” turning to that lady 
with a frank, sunny smile. 

“Thank you. Those are beautiful roses, Miss Lynn,” de- 
clared Wilson, with something like jealousy rising in his 
heart. 


66 


THE soldier's DAUGHTER 


Wilson alone discerned the dark shadow that spread over 
the other gentleman’s face, and felt as tho he were intrud- 
ing on someone else’s pleasure or claim. Some trivial ex- 
cuse was made, and the apparent lovers were left in the en- 
joyment of each other’s society. 

Whenever Wilson thought of Horton as his rival, fortune 
seemed against him, and he could not anticipate any further 
pleasure in his vacation. So he made up his mind to leave 
Cedarville before the end of another day. 

Leaving Mrs. Fennimore in company with others, he fin- 
ally went in search of Mamie; but finding her surrounded 
by half a dozen admirers, upon whom she was bestowing her 
sweetest smiles (as tho no secret pain was lurking in her heart), 
he escaped unnoticed to the opposite side of the room and 
began to make himself agreeable to some one who had re- 
cently entered unannounced. 

'‘Mr. Horton seems very attentive to Ethel," observed 
Mrs. Fennimore the next morning, sitting at the window, 
as he and the young lady rode by. 

'‘Yes," returned Mamie, her eyes following them with re- 
newed interest, “he appeared very devoted last evening." 

"There will be a neat little wedding in the rural home be- 
fore many months," prophesied the older sister, after a few 
moments silence. 

To this Mamie made no reply, her mind too deeply en- 
grossed in perusing the announcement in the morning paper 
of Mr. Wilson’s early departure. 

Ethel accepted Horton’s atentions with girlish innocence — 
tho somewhat inferior to him by birth and education, she 
possessed much womanly talent and power. 

In beauty and sweetness of disposition she compared with 
her mother, after whose death she became mistress of her 
home. Her tender love for her aged father, coupled with 
her sunny ways, proved a source of great comfort in his 
declining years. He was then past sixty, and one of the 
brave men who fought in the war of 1812. 

At the time young Horton was spending his vacation in 
the village and vicinity, Ethel went about her domestic duties 
busying her mind in dreaming over every pleasant hour they 
had spent together, every tender word he had spoken to her. 


THE soldier's DAUGHTER 


67 


recalling the description he had given of his beautiful home 
in the South, the accounts of strange lands he had visited, 
in fact, found herself intensely interested in a strange young 
man. All this seemed so natural, she was so happy, — never 
stopped to question. 

One morning, while watering the flowers, Mamie drove 
up in her splendid carriage. The moment Ethel saw her, 
she dropped her watering can and ran to meet her. 

Mamie had come to spend the day and the girls were in 
high spirits. 

Leaving the horse standing in front of the gate for Mr. 
Lynn to put in the stable, they ran off to the orchard. 

“Are you going to the picnic, Ethel?” inquired Mamie, after 
they had seated themselves under a cool, shady apple tree. 

“All of our best neighbors are going,” she added, “and” — 
smiling with much assurance — “Charley Horton will be 
there.” 

Ethel’s pretty face grew warm in its coloring at the men- 
tion of that name. 

“Certainly. I wouldn’t miss the picnic for worlds,” she 
laughed. “Are Carrie Horne and Lillian Harmer going?” 

“Yes, all the girls are going. By the way, Ethel, Lillian 
is soon to marry Ed Spencer.” 

“So I heard,” was the complacent reply. 

Here the girls chatted ’till dinner time, and it was nearly 
dark before Mamie returned to the village. 

A few days later at Neil’s woods, three quarters of a mile 
from Cedarville, and in sight of Ethel’s picturesque home, 
the picnic was celebrated. 

The day was bright and warm, and the merry voices of 
the neighboring lads and lassies were heard over rocks and 
hills and down in the valleys. 

“Where did you get those beautiful ferns?” asked Lillian 
Harmer, approaching Mamie and Ethel. 

“Fred got them for us,” answered Mamie, with a mis- 
chievous smile, turning to Ethel for confirmation; but Ethel 
was pale and silent, and her head dropped upon Mamie‘s 
shoulder as tho she had fainted. 

“Why, Ethel! What’s the matter? You are not ill?” the 
two girls cried almost in the same breath. 


68 


THE soldier's DAUGHTER 


In a few moments Ethel recovered herself and said she felt 
rather faint and believed she had better go home. 

Mamie offered to accompany her, but Ethel assured her 
it was not necessary to spoil her fun — she would be all right 
again before long. 

Sitting behind a large tree beside the little stream, two 
young men were talking in suppressed tones. Ethel recog- 
nized Horton’s voice which was wont to give her a thrill of 
pleasure. 

"‘Yes, she is pretty, but poor and uneducated. What am I 
going to do with her? Do with Ethel Lynn? Why nothing.” 

“Oh,” replied the other philosophically, “You seemed so 
devoted. I thought you intended marrying the girl.” 

Horton responded with a laugh and then contiued with a 
sneer. “I marry this country girl? What would my people 
say if I brought her home? I have no further use for her.” 

Unnoticed by her father, who was weeding the garden, 
Ethel entered the house and passed to her room, where, tho 
sad disappointment weighed her young heart, her resolutions 
were formed. 

She would not allow the bitter sarcasm of anyone to crush 
her or even visibly dampen her spirits. She was a soldier’s 
daughter and would bear her trouble bravely. 

Tho she might always be poor, she would not always 
be ignorant. 

She had made the best use of the educational advantages 
of the village and the future was before her. And what at 
that time seemed an almost overwhelming defeat .'proved 
an impulse to a noble achievement. 

Four years sped rapidly away. 

Mr. Horton, after spending a few months in his native 
city, set sail for foreign lands. Paris and Italy furnished 
him with pleasure unending, and instead of engaging in some 
manly pursuit, growing strong physically as well as intel- 
lectually, he was dwarfed by indolence. 

Having mingled in gay society he indulged in late hours 
and unwholesome repasts. 

Finally becoming weary of all these things, he turned 
his face homeward; and tho still young, looked prematurely 
old. 


THE soldier's DAUGHTER 


69 


During these years there had often come to him scenes 
and incidents associated with that summer beside the sea 
and among the hills that surrounded a neat rural home. 

Many a time he recalled the soft expression of her deep 
blue eyes and the fresh innocent face of her he had trifled 
with merely for his own amusement. 

He felt no particular pangs of conscience for he possessed 
but little of that divine attribute — ^but longed for some such joy 
again. 

After a comfortable voyage he stood upon the shores of 
his native land with the feeling of a traveler reaching his 
own country; but no one of all the crowd assembled on the 
wharf was there to welcome him. His mother and sister 
were too busily engaged in the round of fashionable amuse- 
ments to go so far to meet a son and brother. 

When but a short distance from one of the prominent 
cities, a slight accident occurred which delayed the train sev- 
eral hours at a small town which was the seat of a flourish- 
ing college. 

As he strolled about the streets enjoying the flower-scented 
air of early June, he noticed a large crowd of people all travel- 
ing in one direction. 

Curiosity prompted him to follow. 

He soon found himself seated in a beautifully decorated 
hall. He presently learned that the day was commencement, 
and a class of young ladies and gentlemen were about to re- 
ceive their diplomas. 

A fine program was handed him. As he glanced over it 
he was startled at the sight of what appeared to be a familiar 
name, but that it could be any one whom he had known 
seemed so improbable that he dismissed the subject from his 
mind. 

Shortly afterwards the exercises began. Each number was 
well rendered with skill and taste, but even a stranger might 
have discerned the feeling of expectation and enthusiasm to- 
ward the last. 

Finally it was announced — “First Honor — ‘The Maid of the 
Hills’ — by Miss Ethel Lynn.” 


70 


THE soldier's DAUGHTER 


Just then a queenly looking woman, plainly and neatly at- 
tired, stepped out upon the stage, and was greeted with a 
hearty round of applause. 

After she had acknowledged the compliment, Horton re- 
cognized the Ethel he had known. 

Tho the large audience became deeply interested in “The 
Maid of the Hills,” no one knew that she was rendering so 
pathetically and so grandly the story of her own young life, 
save the stranger who sat among them, whom she had known 
four years ago. 

Round after round of applause rent the air as she left the 
stage amid showers of flowers, and was encircled by the arms 
of her father, who felt this to be the proudest hour of his 
life. 

Horton longed to join the crowds that afterwards gath- 
ered around Ethel to offer their hearty congratulations, but 
how dare he meet this girl whom he had treated so unmer- 
cifully. 

His heart beat with pride as he thought of her grand 
achievements. 

He walked moodily back to the hotel, and took lodging for 
the night. 

He tried to sleep, but visions of a lovely, intelligent face, 
which so charmed him were constantly flitting before him. 
and the memory of those pleasant days spent with her four 
years ago haunted him, and for a time sleep was in vain. 

Tomorrow he would call on her and entreat her pardon, 
his conceit allowing him to believe that she would hear his 
request. 

Accordingly, in the afternoon of the next day, he entered 
the reception room of the house where Miss Lynn boarded 
and sent up his card. 

As the lady came in and recognized him, he, with all his 
society lore, envied her the grace and dignity with which 
she met him. She was more beautiful and charming than 
ever, tho very reserved and forbidding. This made him the 
more furious, and before she could stop him, he was ardently 
declaring his love for her. 

A gleam of withering scorn darkened her face, which soon 
brightened into an expression of angelic sweetness as she 


THE soldier's DAUGHTER 


71 


turned and greeted a grand and handsome man entering the 
door, who bent upon her such a look of tenderness as only 
exhibited a wealth of affection. 

Quickly stepping aside and taking his arm with womanly 
pride and triumph she said, “Permit me to introduce my 
husband to whom I was married this morning.” 

An angry look was on Horton’s face as he perceived his 
rival was no other than Arthur Wilson, whom he had met 
at Cedarville. 

Mr. Wilson had been one of the professors at the same 
institute where Ethel finished her education, and where in 
time she learned more of his noble character and tenderly 
reciprocated his great affection. 

Then, bidding Mr. Horton a chilling adieu, they passed out, 
leaving him to the companionship of his wounded pride. 

After an hour’s pleasant walk, Ethel and her husband 
boarded the train for their future home in the West, taking 
her aged father with them. 

When comfortably seated, Ethel handed her husband a 
neat invitation that requested their presence at the marriage 
of her dear friend Mamie, to Mr. George Seymore. 

^'George was my classmate,” he said, joyfully, looking over 
the note, “and I shall greet him as an old friend,” and — 
turning to Ethel with a fascinating smile — “introduce my 
wife, the heroine of my favorite song, — “The Soldier’s Daugh- 
ter.” 



\ 

,! 


) 

I 


I 

M 

I 


I 


I 



A JEWEL IN THE ROUGH 


When Dave Hopkins was ushered into the world, the dull, 
dark winter was past. His projecting ears were not yet open 
to the voice of spring, nor did his prominent nose scent the 
breath of violets. His blue eyes did not observe the green 
budding here and there, nor was he conscious of the ray of 
sunlight that fell across the red hair that covered his tiny 
head. 

To all who gazed upon him with the exception of his 
mother, he was anything but a pretty baby. Her eyes were 
blind to any defects that might belong to her child, for she 
loved him with all her heart, and began to plan at once to 
make his life happy and useful. 

A few years after he was born, Mrs. Hopkins became a 
widow, and was compelled to exert her energies to make 
provisions for herself and child, which was scanty at best. 

Dave and his mother were not familiar with what is called 
style, and she deeply regretted she could not clothe her boy 
like other boys of his age. Many a time his pants and coat 
were too short for him, and his ties faded and worn. He 
never seemed to realize the strange contrast between himself 
and other boys at school. 

Whenever a lad would say to him, ‘^Pull down your coat, 
Dave,^’ he would smile thru those brown freckles on his good 
natured face, and jokingly reply: 

‘T wish I could, but Fm afraid it will grow shorter, if my 
legs don’t stop growing longer.” 

He never put in a regular appearance at school, for many 
a time he stayed away to help his mother when she was 
indisposed, and was ever ready to bear the heavier burden and 
cheer the little widow with hope of him some day securing 
a “big job,” — and then she wouldn’t have to work so hard.” 

( 73 ) 


74 


A JEWEL IN THE ROUGH 


At school he was far from being a favorite with the girls, 
but this did not trouble him so long as the little brown-eyed 
girl across the aisle shook her brown curls at him even if it 
were a sign she didn't want him even to look at her. He 
admired her pretty, sweet face, and any vibration from her 
sent joy to his heart. 

While walking home one day, the smaller children met a 
dirty, ragged little girl coming toward them. 

‘‘Let’s run her,” said Mary Smith, “and make her afraid 
of us.” 

With one accord they ran toward her, hollering, “We’re 
going to get you.” 

Dave was just behind these children, and heard and saw 
it all, but before he could speak a word in reproach, the lit- 
tle one had started back across the street in terror, stumbling 
over a stone that lay in the gutter. 

“Stand back !” said he in loud command to the deter- 
mined crowd, “till I pick her up.” 

“For shame!” he cried, pressing the little form to his bo- 
som, “to frighten a little girl like that, and cause her to fall 
down. Don’t you know she is some mother’s dear little girl, 
who loves her as much as your mother loves you. 

“Her face isn’t clean, but maybe her mother is ill, and 
couldn’t wash her today, and maybe she is poor, and can’t 
buy her a good dress like yours.” 

While he was speaking, the crowd looked at him in silence, 
and the sweet faced little girl at his side did not shake her 
brown curies, but looked at him with something like tender- 
ness in her eyes. 

The timid child, not seriously hurt, but sustaining a slight 
bruise on the knee, clung to the boy who had uttered such 
kind words, still in fear of the larger girls. 

Dave assured her they were sorry, and would not harm her, 
and promised to carry her home, if she would tell him where 
she lived. 

He still held her in his arms as he rapped on the door. 

“Here, madam,” he said cheerfully, to the woman who 
answered his call, ”is your precious baby. She’s all right 
now. She just got scared at something and had a little fall.” 


A JEWEL IN THE ROUGH 75 

And as he said this he tossed the child into the mother’s 
out-stretched arms. 

The woman looked Dave over from head to foot, and then 
burst out into a hearty laugh. 

Dave thought she was overjoyed because he had delivered 
her child, but that of course was not the main reason. The 
sight of Dave was enough to make any one laugh. 

As the years went by his looks were not improved, and 
his manner was still odd and somewhat awkward, but his 
big heart and soul was daily blooming afresh into manly 
consideration and kindness. 

He was doing good work in a suburban town about four- 
teen miles from home at the age of twenty-three, and he 
and his mother were already enjoying the comfortable home 
which was almost paid for. In making the trip back and 
forth, he rode on the local train. 

Early in the morning one day the car was crowded. As 
Dave entered and looked around he observed one half of a 
seat vacant in the middle of the car, the other half being 
occupied by an elegantly dressed lady. 

Without any ceremony he sat down beside her, placing 
his dinner bucket between his feet for safe keeping, and then 
drew out his large bandanna apd mopped off his forehead. 

The lady drew her silk folds away with an unpleasant 
frown on her non-youthful face, and gazed out of the window. 

She had been eating some candy from her large purse, but 
had ‘'no desire to eat any more while such a specimen of 
humanity sat by her side.” 

And in her excitement and disgust she had picked up her 
little brown pocket-book instead of the remaining candy, 
which was brown in color, and threw it out of the window. 
Discovering the mistake, she gave a little scream that at- 
tracted Dave’s attention. 

“What’s the matter, madam?” he suddenly asked, turning 
toward her. “Are you having any pain? If so, I have some- 
thing in my pocket that will deaden it, if you will gracefully 
apply it to your becoming nose.” 

“Oh,” she exclaimed,” I threw my pocket-book out of 
the window by mistake. What shall I do? It contains my 
thru ticket and some change.” 


76 


A JEWEL IN THE ROUGH 


'^Now, don’t fret yourself, good madam,” said Dave, rising, 
“I’m well acquainted with the engineer, and I’ll ask him 
to back his engine, or wait for me till I go back and get your 
little article.” 

The woman was forced to give him a pleasant smile. Dave’s 
desire was granted in the interest of the woman, and he soon 
came back handing her the unfortunate pocket-book. She 
snatched it gratefully, and throwing it into her large purse 
continued to gaze out of the window. 

When the train had gone half the distance to Dave’s place 
of work, he noticed a tired looking woman sitting in the seat 
opposite him with two children beside her, and a baby on her 
lap. 

Presently the baby began to cry, and a suppressed sigh 
came from the bosom of the supposed mother. 

“Let me relieve you of that boy, madam,” said Dave, ris- 
ing, and forgetting all about his dinner bucket. “I’m power- 
full good on quieting babies.” 

The woman was glad of the offer as she had traveled all 
night without any rest. 

After giving the other children some candy he had in his 
pocket, he lifted the baby from its mother’s arms and began 
to toss it up and down in playful glee. 

The train had come to a standstill “for ten minutes for 
breakfast,” as the brakeman had called out. 

The hearty little laugh of the youngster arrested the at- 
tention of a young lady sitting a few seats ahead. She had 
heard the accommodating voice of the young man on several 
occasions in the car, but did not look around to note his ap- 
pearance. 

This time she turned and viewed him from head to foot in 
smiling surprise. How well she remembered the prominent 
features, but more than all his cheerful and obliging dispo- 
sition. 

“Just like Dave,” she said to herself, only he is dressed 
in better style and taste. I wonder if he would know me,” 
she went on, “I haven’t seen him since our school days. I’ll 
go out and get some bananas and offer one to the baby, and 
see if he remembers me,” she decided. 


A JEWEL IN THE ROUGH 


77 


Dave had taken a seat in front of the mother and was show- 
ing the youngster some marbles which he always carried in 
his pocket for the express purpose of quieting some child 
that might perchance cry on the train while he was going to 
and from his work. 

Coming back into the car, the young lady stopped at the 
side of Dave and the baby, and in a sweet voice that Dave 
never did forget, offered the child a cake and a banana. 

Dropping the marble, the little one reached for them while 
Dave stared at the lady with wide open mouth. 

He recognized the fair face at once. 

“Lizzie Rinehart! Where did you drop from?” 

“I came from Winchester,” she replied, “and now I am 
going home. I wasn’t quite sure you would know me, Mr. 
Hopkins.” 

“My name is Dave just like it used to be,” he said, shak- 
ing hands with her, “and I would know you anywhere.” 

“My name is Elizabeth now,” she said with a twinkle in her 
eye.” 

“Sit down here, Elizabeth — Lizzie, I mean,” he said, mov- 
ing over. — “You always were Lizzie to me, and always will 
be.” 

And as she sat down beside him, they began talking over 
their school days, starting at the time she shook her curls at 
him as a sign she didn’t want him even to look at her. 

She also recalled the time when she was forced to look 
upon him in a more favorable light because of his good nature 
under trying circumstances. 

He told her he had never forgotten her pretty face and hair, 
and often pictured her gathering flowers from a garden be- 
longing to a neat little cottage. He said this with a mischiev- 
ous gleam in his blue eyes. 

He then informed her of his “fine job” in Spencerville near 
Wayfield, where he and his mother lived, and added that 
their house was nearly paid for. 

“You always were a good boy to your mother and little 
ones.” said Lizzie, casting a glance at the busy baby enjoy- 
ing the cake she had given him. 


78 


A JEWEL IN THE ROUGH 


“Do you know what sign that is?” he asked looking good 
naturedly in her brown eyes, — “I mean the sign of being good 
to your mother and little ones.” 

“No?” answered she, somewhat puzzled at the question. 

“Why, it means the boy or man who is good to his mother 
would be good and considerate to his wife.” 

“Wife!” exclaimed Lizzie, in uneasy tones, “have you got 
a wife?” 

“No,” answered Dave, “Fm glad to say I have no wife, but 
am looking for one in a young lady that looks exactly like 
you.” 

Lizzie blushed, and toyed with her handkerchief, then 
looked up at him and burst into a quiet little laugh. 

How could she marry conspicuous Dave, yet she could not 
deny, nor overlook his self-sacrificing soul. She recalled the 
different romances with other young men who were fairly 
handsome in appearance, but proved to be heartless in na- 
ture, and concluded that true happiness does not lay in out- 
ward appearances, but in a tender and considerate heart. 

“This is so sudden, Mr. Hopkins — Dave,” she said after a 
few moments reflection. Fll think it over. Come and see us, 
— mother will be glad to remember you. The next station is 
where we live. 

The train was now moving on, and fifteen minutes later 
Lizzie was saying “goodbye” to Dave, and he was giving his 
promise to visit her in the near future. 

The station beyond Miss Rinehart’s destination was Spen- 
cerville. 

As the dark headed brakeman called it out, Dave rose 
quickly and handed the baby over to its mother, saying, ‘Fm 
sorry, madam, Fm not going farther to entertain the little 
fellow longer, but the fact is I must get off here to begin my 
day’s work. 

The woman thanked him, and told him she was very grate- 
ful for what he had done, and hoped God would reward him. 

As she said this a vision of brown eyes and brown hair rose 
before him. 

All at once he remembered his dinner bucket. 


A JEWEL IN THE ROUGH 


79 


“Here’s your tin pail,” said the well-dressed lady still sit- 
ting where he had left her. “I took care of it! I think one 
good turn deserves another.” 

“Thank you, madam,” said Dave politely, as he hurried out 
of the car amid the smiles of all the passengers. 

His work seemed lighter than usual this day as he pictured 
a fair image gathering flowers in his own garden at home or 
fresh vegetables for the table. 

It was not long before he accepted Lizzie’s invitation to 
call. 

Mrs. Rinehart remembered his unselfish and sunny nature 
with pleasure, and was glad to welcome him in her humble 
home. 

As for Lizzie, she could not resist the powerful influence 
Dave was weaving about her, and gave him permission to 
visit her whenever he chose to do so. 

Six months later, as he was pouring out a cup of tea for 
his mother at the table, he said her: 

“It won’t be long, mother dear, before you will have a 
daughter as well as a son. She will wash up the dishes for 
you, and help you about the work. Your headquarters will be 
in the cosy parlor, and you are not to leave it till you are 
called.” 

The mother smiled sweetly, and anticipated a pleasant life 
with her “new daughter,” which was to be no other than 
Lizzie Rinehart herself. 

From the first moment Dave presented her to his mother 
a warm feeling existed between them. 

He was very proud of her when he brought her home as 
his wife. 

Shortly after they were married Dave said to her in his 
usual playful manner: 

“Your name is no longer Rinehart, but ‘Sweetheart.’ ” 

“Well, you may call me ^Sweetheart’ in private if you 
choose,” she replied, demurely, but in public I’m Mrs. Dave 
Hopkins.” 

Dave agreed to call her “Lizzie” when folks were around, 
but in private it came handy to call her “Sweetheart.” 


80 


A JEWEL IN THE ROUGH 


According to prophecy she proved herself a '^true daugh- 
ter.” and would allow her mother-in-law to do just enough 
work to keep her in good spirits. 

In after years, when toil and care entered her life, as it 
does every one’s, especially, when children come to gladden 
the home, Lizzie would often say: 

“I don’t know what I would do without Dave. He is so 
good and kind and considerate, and helps me with the babies 
whenever he is home. I know good looks is not making him 
fat, but his noble soul is making me a better woman each 
day, and tho he’s not a handsome husband, he’s my ‘Jewel 
in the Rough.’ ” 


/l\ 








